


Wergild

by inkling



Category: Early Edition
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling/pseuds/inkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between season 2 and season 3:  Chuck's gone to California; Marissa has Crumb to help her run McGinty's, and Gary's handling the demands of the paper fine on his own--isn't he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Season 1: The Pilot, Frostbite, The Wall, Mob Wife, Faith. Season 2: The Quality of Mercy, Hot Time in the Old Town, Second Sight, Don't Walk Away Renee.
> 
> Major kudos to my beta readers, Maryilee and MaryKate sensei. They keep me and the characters in line. This would be a poor, whimpering, quivering tumble of letters across the screen without their input and editing talents. Thanks, ladies of the GTA!

* * *

Part 1

_"Do you wanna die?!? Hunh?!? Do you wanna die?!?"_

_Short and stocky, the man was nonetheless powerful, and not only because of the gun clenched in his right hand. Hernandez shoved Gary angrily, forcing him down hard to the ground, then stood over him, gun pointed menacingly. Hands up in placation, Gary cringed away from the short revolver. But he couldn't not do what he had come to do. Pushing himself up from the dirt on one elbow, trying to ignore both the black muzzle of the gun in his face and the wild light in Hernandez' eyes, he yelled back._

_"No! I don't! But you've gotta list--"_

_"Shut up! Just shut up!" Hernandez shook the gun in Gary's face again, and Gary, still mostly on his back in the dirt, shuddered involuntarily as the ex-con cocked the hammer. Behind Hernandez, on the other side of the tracks in which he stood, the crumpled form of the District Attorney hadn't moved, her blue dress incongruously bright against the muddy clay of the train yard where she lay. Gary hadn't gotten here in time to prevent her murder, and, for a brief moment, he considered just letting the crazed man in front of him die._

_It wouldn't be any more than he deserves, Gary thought bitterly. But the train whistle ended his hesitation. He had learned a long time ago not to second guess what the paper wanted him to do._

_"Look! There's a train, see, and it's gonna, it's gonna--"_

_"What do you care, man? What do you care? Just shut up, all right? Just SHUT UP!"_

_Gary couldn't believe Hernandez didn't hear the whistle of the approaching train, couldn't feel it rumbling through the track beneath him, rattling the rails that lay just before his feet and just beyond Gary's. Sparing one desperate look at the rapidly approaching train, Gary tried again, pointing down the track as he cried out._

_"Look! There's a train and it's gonna hit--"_

Gary's stomach turned over as his eyes popped open to the soft darkness of his loft. Closing them momentarily while he tried to still the pounding of his heart, he heard the brief wail of a siren outside.

"Sorry," he mumbled into his pillow, before rolling over onto his back with one arm across his forehead, the other clenched around the sheet he lay under. He took several deep breaths, closing his eyes again as he tried to shake off the nightmare. "It's not my turn for the night shift."

The siren's wail faded. Gary checked his clock: 3:13. Great. The middle of the night and he was wide awake. _Wide_ awake. Experience had taught him that no matter what, his Early Edition of the paper would *still* be there in three and a half hours, cat in tow. Or was it cat with newspaper in tow? It didn't matter. Neither one seemed to care if Gary was rested or ready. Their relentless presence each morning never varied.

With a muffled curse, Gary threw back his covers and swung his feet over the edge of his bed. He sat for a few minutes, head hanging in his hands, trying to shake the persistent mental picture of Hernandez and his gun - much too close to Gary's face, even in a dream. Telling himself there were worse things he could have dre-- No! Not that; not now. Gary immediately slammed the lid on that particular nightmare, turning back to the bad dream from which he had just awakened. Shuddering, he got up and padded over to his small refrigerator. He'd get something to eat, and then he'd go back to sleep.

The refrigerator was empty, except for half a six-pack of Miller Lite and a quart of milk. Gary took one whiff of the milk and held it as far away from his nose as he could. Whew! No telling how long that had been in here. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually eaten in his apartment. Lately it had been easier to just grab his meals downstairs. Besides, when did he ever get time to actually go grocery shopping? His life was ruled by the paper, and Snow's cat. Anything left over went to McGinty's. Just ask Renee.

Running water to wash the last of the milk he had poured out down the sink, Gary crumpled the empty carton and tossed it in the trash, where it promptly bounced off the already overflowing debris to land on the floor. Gary shook his head. Housecleaning chores were another casualty of his haphazard life. Maybe he should hire a maid -- but then he'd have to explain the surfeit of newspapers stacked around his apartment. Maybe he shouldn't. Heading back to the refrigerator, he stared into it thoughtfully for a moment before pulling out and opening a beer. He wasn't about to hassle with going downstairs for a midnight snack. Besides, maybe the beer would help him sleep -- what little sleep he could still get before the ball and chain arrived to shackle his life for another day.

"California dreamin', on such a winter's da-a-a-a-ay--"

Chuck punched the off button on his radio with a muffled curse. It wasn't winter, not by a long shot, and it wasn't California dreaming, it was California nightmares, freeway style. He had never in his life seen so much traffic get backed up so fast. He was not only going to be late for his meeting with the potential backers of his new film, he was probably going to miss it all together. Around him, people were getting out of their cars, some shading their eyes as they tried to see far enough down the highway to find out why the busy freeway had become a parking lot. Others were leaning resignedly against their cars, or striking up conversations with other motorists.

Chuck pounded his steering wheel in frustration, much to the amusement of his neighboring traffic casualties. One man, standing outside his car, pointed to Chuck's Illinois license plate with a comment that had his companion, an attractive blonde woman in what amounted to about 8 ounces of clothing, howling with laughter. Any other day Chuck would have fully appreciated the effect her amusement had on various parts of her anatomy. But not today. Not with so much hanging in the balance. Resignedly, he pulled out his cell phone and switched it on.

"Maddie? Yeah, this is Chu-- Charles." The corporate secretary at the last business he had tried to interest in his latest idea had suggested he use his given name, instead of the familiar nick name. It sounded more prestigious, she said. "Steven" Spielberg, not "Steve." "Francis" Ford Coppola, not "Frank." Since she was also a good-looking brunette, Chuck took her advice. He was still trying to get her to let him take her out.

The female voice on the other end of the line asked a question. Chuck answered, trying to keep resentment for his current situation out of his voice.

"There's a bit of a traffic tie-up out here on the freeway, and it looks like I'm gonna be here for a while..."

Sympathetic noises came from the earpiece of his phone, followed by a patronizing lecture on why you never take the freeway to get here, you should have taken... and she launched into a dizzying description of major thoroughfares and so many lights and so many blocks. That, she insisted at the end of her recital, would have gotten Chuck to their main office in just a little bit more time than the freeway on a good day. It would have gotten him there eons before he would arrive today, if he ever did.

Yeah, yeah, now you tell me! Chuck groused silently, then reluctantly rescheduled his meeting with the prospective backers for next month. Disgusted, he tossed the phone over to the passenger seat, then leaned back against his own seat with a heavy sigh. The blonde and her boyfriend were still laughing, and Chuck decided road rage was a very understandable malady.

It was 10:35 p.m. when Gary stalked into McGinty's, nodding shortly to Crumb and the other night bartender as they chatted with patrons. Ducking behind the bar without speaking, he sorted through the fridge there for a couple of beers, opening one and taking a long swig of it before he headed back into the kitchen to find a sandwich or something to eat. He was starving, having spent the day racing around -- well, if you could call riding the El all over Chicago racing -- preventing a child from getting run over in a cross-walk, a jogger from being bitten by a dog (Gary almost got bit instead), and picking up an elderly lady's purse when she dropped it - with all her money for her medications in it - before the young thugs behind him could grab it. And that was just this morning.

All in all, though, not a bad day - if he didn't count his last encounter before heading home. No one had cussed him out, or called the police on him, and his own life hadn't been in danger, not really. Of course, nobody bothered to thank him either. Honestly, compared to times in the past, lately his days hadn't been so bad, just busy - very busy. It was the nights that were getting to him.

It had been two weeks since his first nightmare. That nightmare - and others - had replayed in various versions every night since then; sometimes both the kid and the DA died, and still he couldn't save Hernandez. One night, last night, actually, Hernandez had pushed Gary down onto the tracks, laughing wildly as he pulled the trigger. Gary didn't remember if the dream ended with him being shot or run over by the train. He just knew he had woken up in a cold sweat, heart pounding wildly. He spent the rest of the night wrapped in a blanket in his chair, surfing the infomercials on TV while he drank another couple of beers, since that seemed to be all he found in his fridge these days. Somewhere towards dawn he had finally dozed off, only to wake up with a start from a dream about finding Chuck's body floating in Lake Michigan off the Rosario docks. He had actually been glad to hear the paper's familiar plop! outside his door this morning. It gave him something else to think about, something besides his own demise and that of his best friend.

Gary still got chills up and down his spine when he thought about how close they had all come to dying that day on the tugboat. If it hadn't been for Marissa and her mystery woman... He pushed the picture away. Marissa had told him a little bit about the article the woman read to her, and he didn't like to remember that the "Bodies Found Floating" were his and Chuck's and Crumb's. They wouldn't have lasted long in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan even if they had survived the explosion on the tug.

Finishing his beer while he put his sandwich together, trying to stay out of the way of the night staff cleaning up after the kitchen closed, Gary sighed. On top of everything, there was Renee. Last week she had complained that their dates lately consisted of her sitting at McGinty's bar while Gary tried to talk to her between customers, or her sitting in his apartment watching a movie she didn't really care about while he fell asleep next to her. He hadn't heard from her since then. There wasn't much he could do; with Chuck gone Gary's presence was required at McGinty's far more often than in the past. Add the paper on top of that, and Gary really didn't have time for Renee.

"Just one more thing about my life that's been screwed up cause of that damn cat." Gary found himself more resentful of the paper as each day went by. He couldn't even sleep any more because of it. Gary dreaded going to bed at night, putting it off as long as possible. Which meant he was all that much more tired in the morning when the paper arrived, but not that he had an easier time getting to sleep the next night.

Taking his plate and heading for the office and his loft, Gary stopped at the cooler for another beer. On second thought, he set the plate down for a moment while he punched the handle out of a half rack, then grabbing both headed out into the bar and up the stairs to his loft. Maybe, just maybe, if he had a couple of beers before bed tonight, he could sleep without the plague of nightmares.

Chuck couldn't believe his good luck. He was actually on his way home from a champagne and lobster dinner, a dinner where he and his corporate sponsors had signed all the necessary contracts for Fishman Productions' first venture into Wholesome Family Entertainment. Everything Chuck needed, signed, sealed, and delivered. Money? Not a problem, not anymore. Now his problems were of a different sort. Finding a screenwriter, a film crew, stars... Let's see... Julia Roberts... Sandra Bullock... no, Pamela Anderson! She would be perfect! Chuck made a mental note to find out who her agent was first thing tomorrow morning.

Topping it all off, Roxie, the good-looking brunette from his first failed attempt at sponsorship, had finally consented to a date. He was picking her up at 6:30 tomorrow night, and he had great expectations for the evening.

Flipping on the lights in his apartment, Chuck knew he had to find someone to share his news with, or he would burst. Gary! They hadn't talked for a couple of weeks now. Gary would be properly appreciative of his good fortune. Then Gary could tell Crumb, and, while he wouldn't be there to gloat in person, Chuck could at least relish the fact that Crumb knew he was a success out in California. He checked the clock: 9:30. Good! It was only 11:30 in Chicago, and Gary probably wouldn't be in bed. If he was, well he was a good guy. He'd be happy for Chuck anyway.

Dropping his keys on the kitchen bar, Chuck dialed Gary's number. The tinny voice of the operator came on after the first two rings, and he cut it off before she could tell him the number he dialed was not in service. After all those years of living in the same town as Gary, he couldn't seem to remember that now he had to dial the area code before the actual number. Dialing the entire number the second time, Chuck settled back on his couch, flipping the TV on with the remote while he waited for Gary to answer. It took a long time, and Chuck was about to hang up and try McGinty's number downstairs when Gary finally picked up the phone.

"Nyhello?"

"Gary?"

"Nyeah."

Chuck frowned. Gary sounded sick - or something. Or, maybe he had been asleep.

"Hey buddy, it's Chuck! Guess what? Great news! I just got home from a champagne and lobster dinner, and it was all to sign the paperwork for my project. Sony/Tristar is going to foot the bill for my movie idea! Isn't that great?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Chuck frowned. He could hear vague background noises, but not much else. Then, finally,

"Nyeah, Chuck, tha's, tha's great."

"Gary? Are you all right?"

"Nyeah. Yeah. Was jus' 'bout sleep, thassall."

Chuck had a sudden, funny feeling. Gary didn't sound sleepy, he sounded, well, slightly drunk. Either that or he wasn't bothering to lift his face off the pillow when he talked.

"Hey, is everything all right back there, buddy? Crumb keeping you in line? How's Marissa?"

Another long pause. Chuck wasn't feeling funny anymore, he was getting worried.

"Nyeah. Evverthin's fine. Jus' fine."

"How's the paper been lately? Keeping you busy?"

"How elsh does it keep me?"

"Yeah, well, you know you should take some time off, Gary. Get your folks up for the weekend, they can handle the paper. You take Renee and go away for a couple of days, just the two of you somewhere. Come see me out here!"

"Can' do that. Ish my responsi- responsh- responsibility." Chuck was really concerned now. But Gary was still talking. "Gotta go, Chuck, ge' shom sleep. While I can."

"Hey, Gar, I'm serious. You should come out here--" The dial tone cut Chuck's invitation off, and he sat, staring thoughtfully at the receiver in his hand for a long time after that.

* * *

Part 2

_They all heard the muffled boom, felt the ship shudder. Gary froze, ceasing his struggles to look around him anxiously. Crumb and Chuck quit arguing to join him. The ship suddenly groaned, then listed slightly toward one end. Crumb caught Gary's eye from where he and Chuck were handcuffed together through the ladder-like stairs of the tugboat._

_"Just a guess, Hobson, but I don't think this is a good sign."_

_Gary didn't answer as he resumed his frantic tugging at the ropes that bound his hands together around the thin metal pole, his wrists raw already from his earlier attempts to free himself. He didn't want to admit that he had yet to feel any give in the knots, especially not when he could hear a rushing noise in the background now, a noise that sounded suspiciously like running water - lots of running water. Chuck and Crumb watched in silence. No one needed to mention all their lives hinged now on whether or not Gary could get free of his bonds._

_He wasn't getting anywhere. The ship was listing more and more, groaning and creaking around them, and the lake had begun rushing in to their compartment. Gary swore as he felt the first icy fingers of water grip his ankles. Crumb looked resigned, Chuck desperate._

_"Come on, Gar! You gotta get loose!"_

_"Yeah, well, what do you think I been trying to do all night, huh?" Gary wasted precious seconds glaring at his friend, who had the grace to look abashed. When Chuck looked away, Gary returned to his desperate struggles for freedom, more desperate now as the icy water climbed swiftly around him. The more water that came in, the further his end of the tugboat sank. As a result, while Gary was going under faster, his two companions were actually higher above the rising water._

_"Gar..." Chuck looked like he was beginning to realize this might really be it._

_"Just stow it, Chuck, all right? Just stow it." Gary was in no mood to deal with a penitential Chuck. Not with icy lake water up around his waist. Not when his hands, now underneath that water, were quickly going numb. Suddenly, with a long, loud moan, the ship shuddered and slipped, and Gary was in water up to his chin. Chuck and Crumb were scrambling to hang on to their ladder, now more horizontal than vertical._

_"Gary!" Chuck's eyes were huge, horrified._

_The ship settled again, and Gary choked on a mouthful of seawater as it swept over his head. Still struggling against bonds he could no longer feel, Gary refused to give in, refused to admit this could be it. Until the water came up over his head. Until..._

Gary fought the entangling covers, frantic to be free; frantic to get his head above the lake waters subsuming him. Abruptly he felt himself falling - falling? - hitting the floor beside his bed with a loud thump. Jolted awake, he saw the sunlight streaming in his windows, heard over the pounding of his heart the radio announcer: "Good morning, Chicago! It's gonna be a warm one--" Gary fought his covers once again, sitting up to slap the voice into silence. Into that silence came the plop! and mreeow! that had started his day every day for the last two years.

Sitting on the floor beside his bed, hands covering his face, Gary fought to control his panic, struggled to calm his racing heart. Snow's cat mreeowed again, and he moved a hand long enough to cast a one-eyed glare at the door. Finally managing to extricate himself from his sheets, he headed for the bathroom. Leaning over the sink to splash his face with cold water, the man he saw in the mirror was hollow eyed, unshaven, unkempt. He looked... like something the cat dragged in.

His pulse settled somewhere near normal about the time he realized he had a headache. Not just a headache: timpani in full concert, one set on each side of his head. Gary made his way gingerly over to the door. Opening it, he stared grimly at the cat.

"Don't suppose you could hand that up to me, do ya?" The cat ran in with a loud mreeow. Gary started to shake his head, changing his mind immediately. "Yeah, well, thanks again for nothin'."

After a moment's consideration, he reached for the paper with one hand, squatting down slowly so as not to aggravate the pounding in his skull any more than he absolutely had to. He dropped the paper on the table without looking at it on his way to the medicine cabinet. Fighting the aspirin bottle, he finally got it open and took 2, then 2 more out. His stomach lurched uneasily as he found a glass for water, so Gary turned instead to the fridge. Frowning at the 5 bottles of beer left in it, he looked for something else to drink. There was nothing else, so, shrugging, he grabbed a beer and opened it. Swigging down the aspirin, he wobbled over to ease down on the couch, absently drinking from the bottle in his hand once he was settled.

God, what a dream! And Chuck, damn him, it was all his fault-- Chuck? Gary frowned as the cat jumped up on the couch beside him. Chuck... what was it about his friend? Unable to remember, Gary started to shake his head, only to stop, wincing. Groaning aloud at the knife throwers who now joined the timpani in his skull, he slid down the couch to where his head could rest comfortably on the back. Closing his eyes, Gary waited for the pounding headache to recede, praying for the nightmares to end.

Marissa took the call in the office, where she had been waiting to catch Gary on his way down this morning. She had a couple of questions concerning the bar for him, but he had yet to show his face downstairs. Wondering briefly if he was out with an early start this morning, she finally gave up and ordered the new beer glasses without him. About 10:00, Robin stuck her head in the door.

"Marissa? There's a call on line one. I think it's Chuck."

Marissa's eyebrows went up in surprise, but she felt for the phone on her desk anyway.

"Well, he's up early." She found the right buttons and pushed. "Hello?"

"Marissa! Hey, guess what!" Marissa held the phone away from her ear.

"Um, you got a date with Pamela Anderson?"

"No, no, but I am going to ask her to be in my movie."

"Movie? What movie?"

"The one Sony/Tristar is funding for me." Chuck sounded like a 7-year-old with his first bike.

"Chuck! That's wonderful! Congratulations! Have you told Gary?"

"Well, that's sort of why I called." Chuck's voice was abruptly serious. "I called Gary last night. He, uh, he didn't sound quite right, Marissa."

"What do you mean 'right' Chuck? He's been pretty tired. With the nice weather it seems like the paper's been keeping him really busy, and between that and the bar, you know how hectic things can get for him."

"Have you seen him this morning?"

"No, he hasn't shown up yet. I figured he got an early start." Chuck didn't answer, and Marissa, always intuitive, felt her four good senses come alive.

"Chuck? What is it? What are you worried about?"

"Well..." Marissa waited impatiently for Chuck to continue. "Well, last night he sounded, well, almost drunk."

"Drunk? Gary?" Marissa would have laughed, except Chuck sounded so worried. "Really Chuck, are you sure it wasn't the connection or something? Are you sure you had the right number?"

"No, Marissa, I swear. It was Gary. And, I told him what I just told you and he didn't even respond. When he did, he just said, 'that's great' and he never even asked me for any more details. I tried to talk to him, but he just kept saying everything was okay, and then he hung up on me."

Marissa didn't answer, and Chuck went on.

"Hey, I know it hasn't been easy, running the bar and dealing with the paper too. Have you guys hired another manager?"

Marissa couldn't tell Chuck that she didn't think Gary wanted another manager. In spite of his almost constant irritation with the man, Chuck had been Gary's best friend for more than ten years. Gary hadn't yet gotten to the point where he was ready to replace his friend.

"Um, no, we haven't. Between Gary, Crumb, Robin and I, we've been making it work."

"Well, you've got to get someone else to do it. Gary can't do both. I know. Look, I gotta run, got lots of stuff to do. Do me a favor, and check on him, all right, Marissa? Make sure he's okay. And make him hire a manager!"

"Yeah, sure Chuck." Marissa said goodbye, hanging up the phone to sit thoughtfully at her desk for a few moments. It didn't sound like Chuck had talked to a normal Gary last night, but it could just have been that Gary was tired. He had been busy, really busy lately. So busy she hadn't had an actual conversation with him since... Marissa frowned as she tried to remember the last time she and Gary had talked about anything other than the bar. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned anything out of the paper now for... Two, maybe three weeks? That wasn't normal, not for Gary. She was the only one left for him to talk to about the paper, since Chuck was gone. Even before Chuck left, Marissa had been the one Gary discussed the paper with most often.

Coming to a quick decision, she reached for her cane and went tapping up the stairs. Calling his name as she knocked on his door, Marissa was surprised when he answered it.

"Gary? I thought you were gone already."

"Yeah, well for once I got to sleep in. Um, but I'm kind of on my way out now. Is there something you need?"

"Chuck called."

"He did? What's he got to say for himself?"

Marissa cocked her head, concerned now herself. For Gary not to remember Chuck's call...

"He, um, he got Sony/Tristar to back his movie idea."

"Really? That's great!" It sounded like Gary was shifting his weight from foot to foot. Like, he was... uncomfortable or something. "Look, Marissa, I really gotta go. I'll call Chuck later and talk to him about it, okay?" Marissa heard the paper rustle in Gary's hand as she stepped aside.

"Yeah, sure, Gary. See ya later."

She stood at the top of the stairs for a long time after he left, just thinking.

Gary couldn't count the times the paper had almost gotten him killed anymore, nor the ways. Let's see... He had almost frozen to death, been hit by at least two cars, and head injuries from one of those hit and runs had almost done him in - injuries aggravated by the fact the paper didn't care if he was sick or not, it still called him out to help others. Gary had also lost count of how many times he had intervened in fires, car accidents, shootings, robberies, tornad-- no, he still remembered both tornadoes, all too vividly. But the rest had all become a blur in his mind, except, of course, for the nightmares he'd been having lately. His subconscious didn't seem to have any problems recalling all the various incidents of the past two years. It just had problems with the results.

Leaning his head back against the side of the El car, Gary searched for something else to think about. At least today the paper seemed to be giving him a break. Or something. He wasn't sure what to think about the fact that the paper was suddenly, mysteriously clear at 4:30 p.m. in the afternoon when for the last 2 months he had run himself ragged well into the evening, every evening, to keep up with its demands. Maybe it was giving him a lesson, like a schoolmaster gave a tardy school boy. Detention. Sitting around staring at the walls in his apartment, with time to think -- and one too many unpleasant things to think about.

His head was starting to hurt again, and Gary tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on that rather than think about the two headlines that would be in tomorrow's paper - headlines unchanged from his Early Edition. Headlines that he had missed because he had spent 3 hours passed out on his couch this morning, sleeping off the beer he had drunk last night. Still didn't get rid of the nightmares, either, Gary grumbled to himself. At least the headlines weren't that drastic. He told himself the old lady would recover from her broken hip, eventually, not like-- Gary shoved the thought away as fast as it appeared. The second headline wasn't as bad. A video store had gotten robbed, but this time no one was hurt in his absence. He told himself to be thankful for small favors.

Hey, maybe he could even get a hold of Renee tonight, and they could have a real date. Holding on to that thought, Gary resolutely forced his recent troubles to the back of his mind as he made his way down the EL stairs and headed towards McGinty's.

* * *

Part 3

_"Hey!! Somebody!!! You gotta let me outta here! The city's gonna burn!!" It was no use. His throat was hoarse from yelling; his cell mates ready to knock him over the head again to shut him up. Slapping the iron bars in frustration, Gary backed into a corner, keeping a wary eye on the two rough-looking characters he shared the dingy, smelly jail with. The city was going to burn. He couldn't stop that; it was over his head. But it wasn't just the city he had to save, it was...who? Gary shook his head, desperately trying to clear the last of the cobwebs the crooked cop's cudgel had left in his brain._

_"Hey!! Somebody!! Anybody!!" Then, suddenly, Gary heard Marissa scream. No, wait, not Marissa... Not Marissa -- Eleanor! Oh my God, what they were going to do to Eleanor! He grabbed the bars of the cell, rattling them with all his strength._

_"Hey!!!"_

_"Mr. Hobson!" The urgent voice came from the window high at the back of the cell. Gary whirled around to find a young black boy standing outside it._

_"Jesse!"_

_"If I get you outta here, will you promise to help Eleanor?"_

_Gary didn't need the prompting of his cell mates to get him to agree. The increasing screams he heard outside were enough._

_"Yeah, sure, but how are you gonna do that?"_

_Jesse held something up through the bars. Gary reached for it, found himself holding what looked like a key made of wax._

_"Just stick this in the lock." Confused, Gary did as he was told. As he handed it back out the window to the waiting boy, a large white hand suddenly grabbed it._

_"I'll take that, Mr. Hobson." Sullivan's leering face appeared next to Jesse's at the window, his other hand seizing the boy by the neck. Gary frantically grabbed for him through the window, but sniggering, Sullivan stepped back, yanking Jesse down from the wooden box he had used to get up to the window. Tossing the struggling boy's stick of wax aside, he shook a knife down into his hand from his sleeve._

_"No!" Gary's hand went out, pleading, for the boy's life, for the lives of so many others. "Y-y-y-you don't understand! You can't do this! It, it, it's not just him, not just the boy! If you kill him, hundreds, thousands of people maybe, will--"_

_"You've interfered for the last time," Sullivan sneered. Gary could only watch as the knife flashed briefly in the dim alley; the screams in the background subsiding slowly into ragged sobs..._

"Marissa? Can I talk to you?" Marissa looked up in surprise as Crumb came around the partition toward her desk. He rarely came into the office, preferring to deal with the customer and product end of the business more than management. Crumb was the one who had kept the inventory going in Chuck's absence. Marissa set her accounts aside for the moment.

"Sure. Come on in." Listening to Crumb grab a chair and set it down near her, she frowned. When he did make his rare appearances in the office, Crumb never stayed long enough to sit down. For the second time in as many weeks she waited patiently for someone to tell her what was on his mind.

Crumb cleared his throat.

"Um, it seems, well, we're missing some inventory."

"What kind of inventory?"

"Well, at first it didn't seem like much. The last couple of weeks we've been coming up a few beers short here and there. This week, though, well, we're missing two cases so far." She could feel Crumb waiting. Could feel his eyes on her, assessing whether or not to say the next thing on his mind.

"And?" she prompted.

Crumb shifted in his chair, cleared his throat again. Taking a deep breath, he must have had to bring his next thought up from his toes, it took so long for him to put it into words.

"Um, well, have you noticed anything funny about Hobson lately?"

"Gary? Why?" Marissa wasn't sure she liked the change of subject, not after Chuck's phone call at the end of last week. Not after her own observations since then. Observations that left her with the distinct impression that her friend was avoiding her. Why, she didn't know. She'd had so much to do in the office she hadn't yet had time or opportunity to corner Gary and find out what was bothering him.

Crumb answered her slowly, reluctantly.

"Well, he, uh, he seems to be, well, he seems kind of... off. You know, off his feed or something. Depressed almost. At first, well, I just chalked it up to Fishman being gone. I mean, I know how good of friends they were, even though I've never understood it. And, I know Hobson's been busy, between the bar and, well, whatever it is he does." Crumb quickly forestalled Marissa's evasion with his own. "That's okay. I don't want to know." Marissa's lips curved into a small smile. Crumb's oft-repeated mantra had become a standing joke among the trio of Gary, Chuck and herself.

Crumb went on. "But now, well, now it seems like there's something more bothering him. He doesn't talk, he doesn't come out and work at the bar in the evenings like he did for a while. Hell, I can barely get him to talk to me about anything anymore. I start to say something and he just waves and says 'Order whatever you need.'" Marissa knew Crumb was studying her again, weighing the impact of his next words. "I, um, well, I was just wondering if you knew anything... I mean, I don't know where he goes or what he does, and like I said, I don't want to know how he knows the things he knows, but I was wondering if maybe something..."

Suddenly, it all made sense, and Marissa could have kicked herself. The paper! It had to be! Something in the paper... She had been trying to figure out how to talk to Gary about Chuck being gone, and hiring a new manager, and since she was so totally consumed with running the bar in Chuck's absence and Gary being MIA lately, she hadn't even stopped to think it might not be Chuck at all.

Then she put everything Crumb was telling her together.

"Wait a minute -- are you trying to tell me you think Gary's responsible for the missing inventory?"

She could feel his discomfort, almost smell him sweating. Crumb liked Gary, liked him a lot. And, he was technically Crumb's boss. It was never easy to tell on your boss, not to another boss, and especially not if you had as much respect for the boss in question as Crumb had for Gary.

"Well, no, it's just..." Crumb's voice trailed off momentarily, then she felt him come to a decision. "Last Thursday night he came in late, looking like he'd had one hell of a day. And not in the good sense, ya know? Anyway, he grabbed a couple of beers from the bar, then went off into the kitchen. I didn't think too much of it, 'cause that's what he does, and we were busy at the time. But then, a little later, I saw him walking through the door to the office here, and I'd swear he had a half rack in his hand. It just - well it was so odd that it kinda stuck in my brain. Then when the inventory comes up short, and the way he's been acting lately -- He doesn't have any history of alcohol problems, does he?"

Marissa shook her head.

"No." She didn't add that it wasn't Gary's nature to deal with things that way, wasn't like him at all. They both knew that. In the midst of all his problems with Marcia and with everything the newspaper had thrown at him in the last two years, even terrified and on the run from the rogue agent Marley and Crumb himself two winters ago, Gary had never not been able to cope. Oh, he had his off moments, but that's what they were: moments. Maybe hours. A day or two, here and there. Not days and certainly not weeks. Marissa shivered, suddenly chilled.

What could have happened to push Gary over the edge like this? It would have to be something terrible, something horrible. And she had missed it. Missed it completely. Chuck out in California had picked up on it before she had. Gary had always been there for her, and now she had failed him.

Crumb was still waiting for her reply.

"I'll talk to him, Crumb. Thanks."

"Yeah. Sure." His tread was heavy as he left the office, but no heavier than Marissa's heart.

The clock behind the bar read 8:02 when Marissa asked Crumb for the umpteenth time the next evening. She was sitting at the end of the bar matching inventory and invoices. Crumb stood nearby, drying glasses in between reading things out for her. He was also keeping an eye on the front door for her. Gary had last been seen heading out about 11:00 this morning. Marissa was hoping to catch him on his way in. He had been gone - or hadn't answered the door - when she had gone up to his apartment last night, and the same this morning. She had hovered around the office all day, yet Gary had still managed to evade her. The only other time Gary had been this elusive was when he had been trapped in the abandoned theater last winter. This time she had enough staff sightings to know he hadn't literally dropped off the face of the earth, but he might as well have as far as she was concerned. Marissa was left with the cat, who seemed to be under her feet everywhere she turned - a fact that only increased her worry.

With the background noise of people, music and dishes clinking, she didn't hear McGinty's front door opening or closing, but she couldn't miss Crumb's sudden tension. The cat appeared, jumping up on the stool next to her with a piteous mreeow. Marissa heard the door to the office open and close a moment later.

"Crumb?"

"Yeah. It's him."

Marissa felt for her cane as she got down from her stool.

"Wish me luck," she said, without thinking.

"Yeah. Good luck." Crumb was unusually somber. He had incredible faith in Gary, in his "abilities," and she knew how hard it had been for him to talk to her in the first place. Today he had been all for calling Gary's parents, but she had managed to talk him out of that. God alone knew what Gary would do if they turned up right now. She didn't want to know.

Pausing in front of Gary's door a few minutes later, cat curling about her feet, Marissa took a deep breath before knocking. She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but she knew the words would come to her. They always did. Still, she breathed a silent prayer as she heard the knob turn.

"Uh, hi, Marissa." The TV was blaring in the background, and Marissa wasn't sure what smell it was that came wafting out the open door with the noise. Unconsciously her nose wrinkled.

"What's that smell?"

Gary shifted his feet.

"Well, uh, there was gonna be this accident at the stockyards, and well, I kind of fell..." Gary's voice trailed off into an embarrassed silence.

"Do I really want to know what you fell into?" Marissa asked, her sense of humor returning briefly.

"No. Uh, no, you don't." She thought maybe he smiled, but she wasn't sure. Not for the first time in recent memory, Marissa cursed her blindness. Right now she would have given almost anything to be able to see her friend, see the look on his face, the look in his eyes. In the absence of that, she tried to see with her heart.

"Do you mind---"

"Look, Marissa--"

Speaking at the same time, they both broke off. When Gary didn't continue, she did.

"Do you mind if I come in?" He minded. She could tell. It made her all the more determined not to let him get away without talking to her- not this time.

"Um, well, I was just gonna get in the shower..."

"That's okay. I'll wait." Marissa walked past Gary into the loft, feeling her way past the obstacles in the room. Her foot kicked a bottle, and Gary moved swiftly to sweep it and what sounded like several others out of her way with one foot. His hand grasped her arm and guided her carefully over to the couch.

"I, uh, I haven't had time to clean the place up lately. Sorry."

Feeling the for the seat beneath her with one hand, Marissa smiled. Was that beer she smelled under the other odor?

"That's okay. I know how hectic things can get." She sat back on the couch, putting her cane off to one side. "Go on. That smell must really be getting to you. It's getting to me and I've only been here for a minute." The cat jumped up on the couch beside her, purring. "We'll be fine here."

He hesitated, then gave in reluctantly.

"Okay."

Marissa wasn't sure how long she sat there, listening to the TV she couldn't see, rubbing the cat's head with one hand. It seemed like forever, but she knew that was subjective. Lost in thought on what exactly to say to Gary when he finally did come out of the bathroom, the first ring of the phone left her breathless for a moment. She heard the shower shut off, but Gary didn't seem to be worried about answering the phone. It quit ringing before she decided whether or not she should answer it for him.

When the bathroom door finally opened minutes later, Gary didn't come right over to talk to her. Instead, she heard him at the refrigerator, heard, in the momentary silence between commercial and program on the TV, the unmistakable sound of a bottle being opened. A minute later, he sank with a sigh in the chair beside the couch, belatedly asking, "Um, you want a drink or something?"

Marissa shook her head.

"No, not right now. Thanks."

Tinny music from the TV filled the silence that stretched between the two friends. Now that the moment had come, Marissa wasn't sure what she to say. With an internal shrug, she decided that her usual direct approach was the best place to start.

"Gary?" He didn't answer right away, and she couldn't tell if it was because he didn't want to, or because he couldn't hear her over the TV. Marissa decided she had had enough of that TV. Besides, getting up to turn it off gave her something to do, hofefully allowing a bit more time for inspiration to strike about how to approach Gary.

She rose and hesitantly made her way towards the TV, not noticing when her cane slipped to the floor. Gary didn't say anything, and she once again wished vainly to see. Where was Chuck when she needed him? Missing it with her outstretched hands, Marissa's hip bumped the TV. She quickly felt for the switches and turned it off. The sudden silence was deafening. Gary's chair creaked as he shifted in it. Marissa turned to face him.

"Gary? What's wrong?"

"Wha-whaddya mean, 'what's wrong?'"

Marissa sighed. No doubt about it, this was going to be difficult. She felt a sudden surge of sympathy for doctors with recalcitrant patients. Well, she could be stubborn too.

"I mean what's wrong?" She listened as Gary took another long drink of his beer, then, setting the bottle on the coffee table, he got up and went to open the refrigerator again without answering her. Marissa frowned as she heard him pulling the lid off another bottle. He couldn't have finished the first one he'd opened that fast, could he? Not hearing any indication Gary was coming to sit down again, Marissa cocked her head, trying to figure out where he had gone. He must still be over by the refrigerator. She began walking that direction, forgetting where she had left her cane. Tripping over it, she fell. Her hands hit the floor a second before her body did, and Marissa cried out at the sudden, sharp pain in her right hand.

"Marissa!" Gary was there immediately, gently helping her to sit up. Marissa could feel the warm blood trickling down her hand, and she cried out again involuntarily as Gary turned it so he could examine it.

"Damn!"

"What is it, Gary? What is it?" She was shaking now, shivering at the pains shooting from her hand up her arm.

"You, uh, your hand landed on a piece of glass. It's pretty deeply embedded. Let me get my shoes on and I'll take you to the emergency room."

* * *

Part 4

_The coffin was open. Gary frowned. Weren't they supposed to shut those things before they got to the graveside? He waited until everyone else left, then, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trench coat, walked slowly up behind Chuck. Gary didn't try to say anything to his friend. Some things were better left unsaid, especially the kinds of things he would have to say if he ever started to tell his friend the truth._

_Chuck didn't move, though Gary knew he had heard him approach. Then, abruptly, Chuck turned on him, eyes blazing._

_"Why didn't you stop it? You knew! The paper told you! You could have done something about it, but no, you decided not to. You want to tell me why? You want to tell me just exactly what kind of deal you made with Perelli? Huh? What did he give you in exchange for her life?"_

_Openmouthed, Gary stared at Chuck. He glanced down toward the open coffin, and his guts suddenly froze. A body lay there. A woman, brunette, young, good-looking... Theresa No! That wasn't the deal he made! It wasn't Chuck's life for hers... It was--_

_Chuck claimed Gary's attention again with a short, hard right to the jaw. Gary fell back against a neighboring headstone, grabbing at it as he hit the ground. Stunned, he sat rubbing his jaw with one hand as Chuck stalked up to stand over him._

_"Well, I hope it was worth it. 'Cause I'm gone. I'm outta here. If I ever see you again it'll be too soon." Gary opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come as Chuck turned and left. He couldn't explain to his friend that this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, it wasn't supposed to end like this, with Chuck leaving and Gary alone in the graveyard. It had ended... How had it ended?_

_Still rubbing his jaw, Gary slowly pulled himself to his feet, his eyes following Chuck's retreating figure. Marissa and Crumb were waiting for Chuck at the driveway, joining him as he walked to his car. Crumb helped Marissa in, then the three of them drove away, leaving Gary alone in the cemetery. Confused, Gary turned to the coffin again. It sat, still open, a dark blot above the gaping grave. Warily he approached it, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw who was lying in it this time: Rachel! Rachel Greenberg! Gary hesitantly reached toward her face, pulling his hand back abruptly as it came into contact with her marblelike flesh. No! Wait, this wasn't right, Rachel, Rachel, she had lived... but maybe she had died later - when he wasn't around to save her._

_Trembling, Gary backed away from the coffin, tripping over another headstone as he turned to run. Hands scrabbling at it as he struggled to rise, he froze as the name on it registered: Tommy Grazier. No! Gary had saved him! He remembered - at least, he thought he did. Scrambling to his feet, Gary found himself drawn inexorably to the next tombstone: Tony. No! That wasn't right either! He began to run down the line of gray weathered stones, fighting to turn his eyes away from the names he knew shouldn't be there, desperate to deny this stone cold record of all his failures, all the deaths he knew he should have - could have - prevented: Allie Chapman. Amanda. Jim Matthews. Jesse Mayfield. No! He had done what he was supposed to do, he had been there for all of them. All of these people! This wasn't real, this couldn't be real. He had almost convinced himself he was dreaming - until he came to the last, raw grave in the row._

Thunk!

Gary's head hit the wall behind him, startling him from his nightmare. Heart pounding, it took him a minute to remember where he was, to recollect why he was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital - again. Shuddering, hands shaking as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Gary tried to focus on the sights and sounds of the hospital around him, using them to push the remnants of his nightmare from his fuzzy brain.

The clock on the wall read 9:27, and Gary sighed. Wide awake now, he shifted uneasily in the overstuffed chair, brushing absently at the bloodstains on his jeans. It had taken forever for a doctor be available to look at Marissa's hand; now it was taking forever for them to actually look at it. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he slumped deeper into his seat, head propped on one hand. This made altogether too many trips to the hospital in the last few weeks. He was really coming to hate this place.

Not to mention the fact that he was really coming to hate himself. How could he have been so stupid? Seriously afraid of what the doctor was going to say about Marissa's hand, Gary wished he could forget what the glass looked like as it went halfway through her hand, down and into the ball of her palm. What was he going to say to his friend? "Uh, gee, I'm sorry, Marissa. I got falling down drunk last night, fell down, and broke a bottle of beer on the floor. Too bad you just happened to trip and land in the same place, on the one piece of glass I missed when I cleaned up this morning."

Gary closed his eyes, willing the lurking headache he'd fought all day into obscurity again. Wondered if he could get some aspirin or something from one of the nurses. Denied the rumbling of his stomach - he hadn't been able to keep down most of what he'd eaten today anyway. Wanted a beer. Wished Renee hadn't "had plans" the last time he called her. Tried not to think about the fact that - once again - someone was in the hospital because of his laxity - his error in judgement. Worked on forgetting the other three people whose lives were not as happy as they would have been if Gary Hobson had gotten up and out the door on time this morning - like he always used to. Gary couldn't care about the three headlines he had missed this morning, puking his guts out in the bathroom for an hour after he woke up. He wouldn't care.

Yeah, right, Hobson, so why are you moping in your chair here? Because it had almost worked, this time; it had almost worked. Last night's nightmare had come, but Gary had only woken up for a few minutes afterward, passing out again before his heart even stopped pounding. He refused to think about the subject matter of his dream, concentrating instead on the fact it had been the best night he'd had sleepwise in at least three weeks. Just don't think about the morning afterward. Or tonight.

A vaguely familiar voice caught his attention, just as he was nodding off for the second time. Blinking, Gary searched the room, his eyes finally finding the short, black-haired nurse chatting with the blonde receptionist at the desk. She was the same one he had talked to the last two times he was here. Fumbling through his memories, he came up with a name: Ortiz. Cup of coffee in her hand, stethoscope around her neck, she was giggling over whatever the receptionist was saying. Heart pounding suddenly, Gary swallowed. Maybe she could tell him... Maybe... If he really wanted to know... Closing his eyes, he struggled briefly with himself, then decided he had to know.

"Yes? Can I help you?" The receptionist turned to him as he stood in front of her desk, swaying slightly. Her friend waited quietly behind her. Gary hesitated, not quite sure how to ask his question. Then suddenly, brown eyes widening in recognition, the dark-haired nurse leaned over the counter towards him.

"It's Hobson, right? Mr. Hobson?"

Gary nodded.

"Yeah, that's right." There was an awkward pause. Swallowing, wondering if he looked as exhausted as he felt, Gary tried to conjure up his "grandma-charming" smile, as Renee called it, telling him laughingly one night that he could charm the grandmas right out of their rockers on the porch. There was no response from the two women watching him closely from the other side of the barrier erected between consumer and provider. No real surprise, either, when he remembered the haggard face greeting him in the mirror this morning after his dream about Marissa - no, Eleanor, and don't think about that now, not here, not with Marissa in there getting stitched up because of your own stupi-- with an effort, Gary wrenched his thoughts back to the women in front of him, back to this particular nightmare.

"Uh, um..." He gave up on the smile. "D-d-do you remember the little girl, Samantha? Samantha Edwards? I, uh, I was wondering if you could tell me how she's doing..."

Ortiz' eyes narrowed as she stared thoughtfully at Gary.

"Didn't anyone let you know? Father Dow was trying to find you."

Gary shook his head as his stomach clenched.

The nurse looked at her friend, then reluctantly met Gary's anxious gaze.

"They took her off life support 4 days ago." She spoke slowly, as to a child.

"Off life support? Th- the- then that means she's gonna, she's gonna be okay?" Gary's brief flash of hope was aborted at conception. Ortiz was shaking her head, dark brown eyes full of sympathy.

"No..." She traded another reluctant look with her friend, then looked Gary full in the face as she spoke again.

Gary suddenly felt nauseous, wishing he hadn't asked. Wishing he could stop his ears, could refuse to hear what the woman in front of him was saying.

"...no hope of recovery. Too much brain damage. The doctors had no choice but to let her go."

"Gary?" Marissa paused, momentarily dizzy as she stood in the entrance to the hospital waiting room. The nurse escorting her gently guided Marissa to a seat.

"Here, you sit down while I find your friend."

Reaching out carefully with her good hand, Marissa sat willingly, more woozy than she cared to admit after 12 stitches inside and 14 outside of her hand. Once she was settled, the nurse asked, "Now, what did you say he looked like?"

Marissa smiled as she answered. Her description of Gary never failed to lead people to the right man.

"Tall, dark hair, face like apple pie...."

She felt the woman's amusement as the nurse scanned the room.

"Well, there's no apple pie here, I can tell you that. A few tarts maybe. He probably went to get a cup of coffee or something. What's his name? I'll have the receptionist page him, then I'll check back in a few minutes to make sure he's come to claim you. Okay?" The woman patted her arm maternally. Marissa nodded.

"Hobson, Gary Hobson. Thank you. I'm sure he'll be here in a minute."

The nurse bustling off, Marissa leaned back in the chair, content just to sit for a bit and pull herself back together. This evening had definitely not gone as planned. Now that the doctors were through with her, she had more to worry about concerning Gary than ever. Maybe she should call Chuck again... But, what could he do out there in California? Sighing, Marissa waited to hear Gary's name go out over the intercom.

She was still waiting, several minutes later. Enough minutes that Marissa was dozing off when a hand gently touched her arm.

"Gary?"

"No, I'm sorry." It was the same nurse who had brought her out to the waiting room. Marissa's good senses quickly told her there was someone else there too. She fought down a sudden sense of panic.

"This is Guille Ortiz." She pronounced it GEE-yah. "She's one of our pediatric ICU nurses. I think you need to talk to her."

Marissa shut the door to her apartment behind her with a sigh of relief. She hoped the cabbie had given her back the right change. But, since the nurses at the hospital had insisted she wait for this particular man, she supposed he must be trustworthy. He had gotten her home all right. She'd just have to take the rest on faith.

Walking quickly, confidently across her apartment, Marissa reflected that she probably should have called Crumb after Gary disappeared from the hospital. But she wasn't ready to tell him what she had found out tonight about Gary, not just yet. Her friend didn't need his vulnerablilty paraded out for the world to see. Besides, didn't Crumb always say he didn't want to know? Yes, he was a friend, but maybe not the kind of friend Gary needed right now.

She reached her clock, the mechanical voice intoning "11:02" when she pushed the right button. Good. That made it only 9:00 in California. Making her way over to the phone, Marissa quickly punched the numbers, willing Chuck to be home, silently begging him to be there this time.

The van spun two wheels up and over the cement barrier and onto the sidewalk before Gary's foot found the brakes. It lurched forward as he lost the pedal momentarily, but then the van's engine stalled and died as he slammed the brakes on again. The world around him spinning, for a moment Gary rested his head on his hands where they gripped the steering wheel, then groped down beneath his seat for the sack he had stashed there earlier in the day. His fingers found it, curling around the smooth, cold glass inside the brown paper bag, drawing the bottle out from under the seat.

Gary had thought he knew what hurt was when Marcia dumped him, but this - this was different. This was worse, much worse. He didn't know how to describe it, didn't know how to tell anyone about it. He never knew he could hurt this bad inside, at least, not and keep on going, keep on living. The pain consumed him, devouring him while at the same time it squashed him flat inside, the weight of it pressing his soul down to where he couldn't lift it up anymore. Eaten alive, crushed flat against his own guilt, Gary was yet so full of torment he was amazed his insides didn't burst right out like a squeezed tomato, spilling his misery all over the ground around him. Now, that would be a mess to clean up.

Only, there wouldn't be anybody there to clean it up. Not with Chuck out in California. Not with Marissa abandoned at the hospital. Gary knew he should have waited to take his friend home, but he couldn't face her tonight, couldn't face those blind eyes that saw right through him into his soul. He didn't want Marissa fingering his guilt, examining what he had done, what he had become in the last few weeks. He didn't want to be there when she passed judgement on him; didn't want to hear her telling him - like she had Chuck - that his good deeds didn't make any difference against one big wrong.

And Chuck: when Gary really needed his help, he had been half a continent away, in California. Marissa, she had always had a life outside McGinty's and the paper. Her family, school, and other things claimed her time, gave her space away from the insanity of the world according to Snow's cat. Chuck hadn't had much else in his life, not really, and Gary had nothing at all, so it was usually the two of them in this mess together, the two of them shoulder to shoulder against the cat, against the paper and the wolves it threw them to. Now it was just Gary and he didn't like being the Lone Ranger. Didn't like it at all -- especially not after what happened to that little girl. To Samantha.

Samantha. He made himself say her name, forced his reluctant mind to remember her running across the green grass, warm brown skin like Marissa's wrapped in a pink and white striped sundress. Her long black pigtails bouncing behind her were fastened with little pink balls, top and bottom. It was amazing how details like that stuck in his mind. Closing his eyes, Gary pulled the memories out from where he had stored them away that day, dredging them up from deep down inside himself, from where he had shoved them after that night at the hospital, after Samantha's mom had come screaming at him - screaming that it was fault her little girl was dying. His fault he didn't get there in time. Father Dow had tried to stop her, tried to tell her she couldn't hold Gary responsible, but Talitha Edwards kept screaming because she knew she was right. And Gary knew she was too.

He saw the skaters now, 7 or 8 teenage boys, laughing and shouting, racing down the sidewalk, almost running over anyone who wasn't fast enough to get out of their way - but the only one who didn't make it was a diminutive 3-year-old girl so excited about the park and the water she didn't hear her momma calling her name, didn't hear Gary's frantic voice. All Samantha heard was the roar of the skates as she was suddenly in front of them, and they didn't - couldn't - stop in time.

Helpless, Gary skidded to a stop as the first two skaters bounced Samantha between them like a little peppermint pinball, sending her richocheting directly in front of the next skater. The boy tried to jump over her as she fell, but one skate caught her in the side of the head, hard, and Gary saw the dent it left in her little skull, saw her head bounce as she flopped brokenly to the cement seconds later in the path of yet a fourth boy. That skater crashed to the ground beyond Samantha, rolling over to cradle his broken arm, while his friends raced away - away from the still, small body lying in the spreading pool of blood on the sidewalk, away from the screams of her mother, away from Gary, standing horrified a few feet away from the disaster he should have prevented...

Gary replayed the events again and again. His decision to stop and get a burger - he was so hungry. He'd grab a bite to eat, and then catch the El, getting to the park in plenty of time, never realizing his watch was slow until he was running up to the El platform as the critical train pulled away. Oh sure, he had caught the next train, and he had made it to the park -- almost in time. But almost didn't count in this game, not in the game of life and death he played with the paper and the cat too many days of his life.

Swallowing, Gary opened his eyes, surprised to find himself huddled in the van, in the night; the memories had seemed so real to his sleep-deprived and booze-befuddled brain. But he was in the right place, at least, here at the park where he had failed so miserably, so completely. Mrs. Edwards was right. He should have been here. Her little girl shouldn't have had to die because of his error. He couldn't fix that, not now, but he knew he had to find a way to apologize, to show just how sorry he was that Samantha had to die. He hadn't figured it all out yet. But he would. He knew he would.

The night whirled around him suddenly and Gary grabbed at the steering wheel to steady himself, then stared warily at the sack he clutched in one hand. This afternoon he had found himself standing outside Zimmerman's Discount Liquor store, just around the corner from home, not really knowing - or caring - how he got there. He did know that if he didn't find something to hold off the nightmares that were tearing him apart every night, he was going to... well, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Gary just knew he had to find something to hold the nightmares at bay. Appearing mysteriously, as it was wont to do, the cat had run beneath his feet as he opened the door to go in, almost tripping him, but luckily he had avoided it. Damn cat, anyway. Always trying to run his life. Ruin his life was more like it. Later, to hide his purchase from prying eyes, Gary had secreted the bottle in the van, planning to claim it after McGinty's had closed and everyone gone home for the night. There was no doubt he'd still be awake. He wasn't completely convinced this was what he wanted, but the beer hadn't drowned his sorrows, not so's he could sleep anyway - and not so's he could live with himself. Shrugging, Gary figured he might as well give it a try.

Tequila clasped tightly in one hand, Gary fumbled for the door handle. Several empty beer bottles crashed on the sidewalk as the door swung open, and he caught himself just before he fell out. Balancing precariously against the vehicle's frame, he clambered out of the van. But the ground wasn't where it was supposed to be when his feet reached for it, and Gary landed hard on the sidewalk. He pushed himself up with one hand to sit, leaning against the side of the van, while the other cradled the precious bottle to his chest.

Hey, what do ya know? Gary stared stupidly at the blood on his palm, then shrugged, accepting the cut from the broken beer bottle as just the beginning of the payback he had coming to him for all the mistakes he had made.

Then, staggering to his feet, he stumbled off into the darkness of the park.

Yawning, Chuck rubbed his eyes and shifted in his seat, trying fruitlessly to get comfortable. If he could just snatch a few minutes of sleep.... With a muffled curse, he gave up. It didn't matter if you were short or tall, airplane coach class seats were not built with anyone's comfort in mind. Leaning back, he settled for star gazing, grateful that he had at least been able to get a window seat - even if he did have to fly out at this god-awful hour.

With a heavy sigh, Chuck watched the velvet sky go by, stars above him matched by the twinkling lights below. Tonight he was more worried about someone other than himself than he could ever remember being in his life. He had known something was up; Gary hadn't answered his phone for the last 4 nights running, but he had never, never expected anything like this. Chuck still felt sick to his stomach when he thought about what Marissa had told him, felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't been there to help his friend out when he really needed it.

The fragment of glass in Marissa's hand had been from a beer bottle. Neither one of them wanted to think about what a beer bottle was doing in pieces on Gary's floor. But the news got worse as Marissa kept talking.

"Gary missed saving a little girl, Chuck. She spent almost three weeks in ICU. Gary kept coming up to check on her, enough that he caught the family's attention. The nurse didn't know exactly what happened, but she did know that the last time he was here the little girl's mother was screaming at him that it was his fault her baby was dying. I guess the hospital chaplain tried to catch him, but he left before anybody could stop him. Chuck, the night you called, last week? That was the same day."

All Marissa had been able to tell him about the accident was that the little girl had been run over by some in-line skaters at one of Chicago's lakefront parks. There had been some hope that she would live, despite the severity of her injuries, though she would never have been normal again. Gary had evidently just been told tonight that the little girl had been allowed to die.

The vast night sky outside his airplane seemed abruptly, forebodingly empty and Chuck closed his eyes, shivering with a sudden chill. Always more superstitious than he was willing to admit, he tried to will away the disturbing omen, tried refusing to contemplate the awful void in his life without Gary. But he couldn't shrug his dread off, not completely. Two hours after he first spoke with Marissa, he had called from the airport to tell her his flight number, finding her as close to frantic as he had ever known her to be. There had been no sign of Gary at McGinty's before Crumb locked up for the night. Gary had driven Marissa to the hospital in the tavern's van, and it hadn't been returned to its parking space behind the building.

Chuck's last thought as he drifted into an uneasy sleep was that after all the paper had put Gary through in the last two years, all the people he had helped, all the lives he had saved - including Chuck's own, more than once - it was looking more and more like Gary was the one who wasn't going to make it this time.

* * *

Part 5

_"Almost time."_

_Gary fought the handcuffs once more, and once more there was no give in them. His hands were still as securely fastened around the thin metal scaffolding behind him as they had been a minute ago. The cold knot of fear in his stomach hardened as he stared once more at the rogue Secret Service agent. Marley ignored him, instead moving the small table closer to the window and beginning to set up the rifle for his shot at the President._

_Concern for his own life overwhelmed by the greater need, the greater loss, Gary desperately tried to think of something to say, anything to stop the evil that the man in front of him was about to perpetrate on an unsuspecting nation._

_"Look Marley, your logistics are off. Your letter bomb, it didn't kill Hawks."_

_Marley favored Gary with a brief glance, and a skeletal grin._

_"Yeah, but it got me you, didn't it?"_

_Gary didn't want to be reminded about that right now._

_"My own choice."_

_Marley grinned again, cadaverously._

_"Admit it. These past few days, you've fantasized: squeezing the trigger, immortality a heartbeat away -- you must have been tempted."_

_"No, I haven't." Gary tried the handcuffs again. No use. Surely there was something he could do, or... someone who would show up to help him! He shook his head, trying to deny a sudden picture of Chuck, Marissa and Crumb all driving off without him._

_Marley wouldn't be denied._

_"Of course you have."_

_Gary was running out of time. If he could just get his hands on the gun..._

_"All right, you're so sure, let me have the rifle. I'll take the shot."_

_Marley smiled as he made the last adjustments to his rifle._

_"I don't think so."_

_He could hear the cars pulling up outside, the sirens of the police motorcycles. The president was arriving now, and Gary was trapped, handcuffed, and -- again -- someone was going to die because he had failed. He made one last desperate attempt._

_"Listen, Marley, what you said before, about not having a soul? That was a lie, wasn't it?"_

_Marley ignored him, taking aim at someone Gary didn't want to guess at. He kept talking, yelling at the rogue agent, trying to unsettle him, stop him._

_"You hear voices of your own, don't you? You're lost, Marley! You're drowning in your own logistics. You're so far gone you don't even remember when you were you!"_

_Marley held the rifle close to his cheek, almost caressing it. Gary could hear car doors slamming outside, hear the shouts and calls of the President's entourage as they cleared the way for their charge. But something else was missing. He looked around, desperately. What was missing? No...who was missing? Chuck? Marissa? Crumb? Shouldn't they be here to help him? Shouldn't there be--_

_The echoing report of Marley's shot shattered his thoughts. Gary stared in horror as Marley allowed himself one exultant look out the window, before picking up the rifle and turning towards his helpless captive._

_"Like the moth to the flame." Marley's eyes were cold, gloating, and Gary's fear was all for himself now. How was he going to get out of this?_

_He wasn't. Desperately, Gary lunged up from where he had been sitting for the last 45 minutes, but the cuffs around his wrists held, and he couldn't move the scaffolding enough to get away. Marley was on him in an instant, using his superior height and experience to wrestle Gary back into a sitting position against the metal pole. Gary kicked out with all his might, but Marley's weight pressed the younger man down. Suddenly, Gary's world flashed and reeled about him as Marley dealt him a sharp blow to the head with the butt of his rifle. Limp, head hanging and only half-conscious, he felt Marley position the gun between his feet, and then grab his face to push the barrel of the rifle towards Gary's mouth. Unable to rally the strength for anything else, Gary gritted his teeth grimly, refusing to allow the rifle entrance, praying that the shouts and sirens he heard outside would get here to the 13th floor before Marley finished what he had come to do._

_Marley sucker punched him. Gary's mouth opened reflexively as he gasped for the air that had been driven from his lungs, and suddenly the cold hard metal was between his teeth, jammed so far back in his throat that he gagged. The rogue agent's face spun above him as Gary took one last, desperate look at the world... In the back of his mind a thought niggled at him, something was wrong. Somehow it wasn't supposed to end like this. Someone was supposed to be here, to help him..._

_Gary's eyes focused finally, multiple Marleys resolving into one leering face in front of his._

_"You can't run from your fate. You might as well go toward it." Leaning against the rifle to hold it in place, Marley grabbed Gary's hair, holding his head down on the gun barrel as his other hand reached for the trigger. Gary stiffened, frantically pulling at the handcuffs, his feet making one last vain effort to dislodge the rifle, and Marley pulled the trigger._

The booming crash of thunder accompanied the lightning flaring through the clouds. Chuck jerked in his seat, instantly wide awake. Rubbing his hand across his face, he checked his watch: 3:49 a.m., California time. That meant it was almost 6:00 a.m. in Chicago, and they should be landing shortly. The "fasten seatbelt" light blinked on above him just as the stewardess arrived to request he move his seat back to an upright position. Chuck complied, then stared out his window. City lights winked into sight as the plane descended below the clouds, and the slow knot of dread once more drew his stomach up tight. God, he hoped Gary was all right out there, wherever he was.

The twinge of guilt he had felt earlier was in full bloom now, and he miserably rode through the plane's landing. If anything happened to Gary... How many times had he been there for Gary in the past? How many times would Gary have failed in his rescues if it weren't for Chuck? He couldn't count the times he, Chuck Fishman, had been the final link in Gary's efforts to save someone. How many times would Gary have died without Chuck's help? Two at least, maybe more. (Chuck pushed away a stray thought about the time Gary almost died because of him.) And now, when Gary had obviously needed him, Chuck had been unavailable. Out in California, chasing a life that Gary, shackled to the paper and Snow's cat, could only dream of. Second banana, indeed.

Uncomfortable with such introspection, Chuck flicked his seatbelt off as the plane taxied into the terminal, standing up and grabbing his one bag out of the overhead compartment even before the plane had stopped moving. Stepping past his seatmates into the aisle, his wiry stature came in handy as he shoved his way unceremoniously past the other passengers up to the head of the line to disembark the plane. He had to get out of here, find a cab, pick Marissa up, and get to... where? Gary, wherever he was. Chuck strode grimly down the entryway to the plane, unwilling to consider how hard it might be to find his friend in the bustling city.

Marissa was waiting for him, her left hand wrapped in a stark white bandage. Her normally impeccably arranged hair fell haphazardly around her face, and beneath her long black coat her clothes had the same rumpled, slept in look his did after a night on the plane. She looked awful. Like he felt, Chuck thought. Worried sick to death about Gary, and unable to do anything for him but wait.

Spike woofed softly as Chuck walked up. Outside dawn was breaking through the receding storm clouds.

"Chuck?" Marissa put a hand out

"Yeah." He set his bag down and took her hand in his. "Any word?"

Marissa shook her head mutely, and without thinking, Chuck gathered her in his arms. She was shaking, close to tears. He patted her back gently with one hand, as, tail wagging, Spike looked on.

"He'll be all right, Marissa. You'll see."

"You weren't here, Chuck, and I missed it. Completely. If it hadn't been for Crumb I might never--"

"Hey. Enough of that." Chuck let go of Marissa and held her by the shoulders, staring intently into her face. "Gary's never been a man of many words. If anyone failed him, it was me, out in California." Chuck wasn't used to this Marissa. She had been the strong anchor for Gary in all his hard times, and as he found her reaching out to him for reassurance, Chuck realized how much he too had come to depend on her. He took a deep breath. "You'll see, Marissa. We'll find him."

Marissa stood up straight, her blind eyes desperate.

"But where? I had the cab driver go by McGinty's on the way here, and he still hasn't shown up there. The van wasn't there, and he wasn't inside, anywhere. How are we going to find him if we don't even know where to look?"

"The paper. What about the paper?"

Marissa sagged.

"It wasn't there. I thought we'd go back and see if it showed up while you were here. But..." Her voice trailed off. Chuck didn't need a map to follow her thought. The paper usually showed up wherever Gary was, in whatever condition he was in. It had followed him to the wilderness, to the hospital... Or, it could be in Hickory, Indiana, with Gary's parents. Chuck didn't even want to think about trying to explain to Bernie and Lois Hobson just what was going on in their son's life right now - if he even could.

He opened his mouth to answer Marissa, to say something, anything, to try to comfort her.

*plop!*

"Mreeow!"

Chuck held his breath for a moment, his blue eyes tracking the sudden hope that broke across Marissa's face. Then, exhaling loudly, he turned around. Sure enough, on the dingy gray airport carpet behind him lay Gary's Early Edition, Snow's ginger cat sitting regally on it.

A booming crash of thunder woke Gary, just as the first drops of rain began to fall on his upturned face. He rolled over to one side, retching what little his stomach contained out onto the grass. That done, he lay gasping, watching faintly shining city lights do a slow loop-de-loop with the lakefront before him, waiting for his heart to stop pounding.

Lightning flickered, and Gary shuddered as the thunder crashed again like a gunshot, the rain now beginning in earnest. My God, what a dream. It hadn't ended like that, it couldn't have. Gary foggily tried to remember what had happened that horrid day, but it was too much effort. He gave up, lying back in the grass, shivering now in the wet chill of the rainstorm. He blinked against the rain, reluctant to close his eyes lest the apparition of Marley return to haunt him.

A moment later his nausea returned, and Gary spent several more minutes retching nothing up onto the grass. The mostly empty tequila bottle was still clutched in his hand. As he rolled back panting after the spasm had passed, Gary feebly tossed it away from him. The stuff hadn't helped at all; made things worse in fact. The tinkle of broken glass was lost in the patter of rain around him, and Gary staggered to his feet. He had to leave, had to get away, before Marley came back to finish what he had started that day.

Reeling, he tripped over something, falling full length on the grass before he could stop himself. His confused mind took a while to connect the white blobs scattered around him with the word "flowers," and even longer to connect the flowers with his own presence in the park today.

Slowly the thought swam up from the recesses of his brain.

Samantha.

Memorial.

The flowers were here because of Samantha.

Marley had failed, and he was dead. Gary had failed, and he was alive. Samantha was dead. And it was all his fault.

"Like the moth to the flame."

Up on his hands and knees, Gary looked around to find the source of the voice, immediately regretting it. As the world spun around him, he staggered once more to his feet, tripping this time over the edge of the sidewalk, landing hard on the concrete. The rain had sputtered to a stop, leaving the sidewalk only spotted with its residue. There was a darker spot next to his hand, larger than all the other rain spots, and Gary, staring at it, suddenly blanched.

It was where Samantha had lain. Where Samantha had bled, while he watched, helpless. Useless.

"Must be a burden, knowing what's going to happen."

Gary tried to ignore the ringing in his ears, tried to ignore the sepulchral voice haunting him. Eyes glued to the dark smear on the sidewalk, he slowly pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

"So, what happened, Hobson?" His unseen inquisitor persisted.

Dizzy, Gary swallowed, closed his eyes. Opened them again, immediately, when that made the dizziness worse. Stared at the dark blot on the concrete, seeing once again the small peppermint pinball, the little girl, as she fell, her skull dented and bashed by the skates that ran into her.

"What's the matter Gary, cat got your tongue?"

Gary fought the cotton in his throat.

"I-I.. I- I tried. I tri' t' be here," he finally managed.

"Ah. But you weren't. Just threw her soul away. Like you did mine. Threw Samantha's soul away. For a hamburger."

Gary shook his head, denying the dizziness to push himself up to a kneeling position.

"N-n-n-no... ish no' like tha'" He caught himself with one hand and then the other as he lost his balance, pushed back at the sidewalk as he pulled his feet under him. "I- I- I- wou' ha' made it...Chuck. If Chu' ha' been here..." Crouched there in the half dark, trying to keep sky and earth in their proper positions, he looked for his inquisitor. There was nobody, nobody there but his own tormented soul.

And a cat. A ginger tabby cat. It rubbed against him, knocking him further off balance. Sitting abruptly, crookedly, one leg out in front of him on the concrete, Gary tried to make some sense out of his swirling thoughts, and failed. He shoved the cat roughly away as it rubbed against him again. One thought laboriously took shape in his brain.

"No. Don' wan' it no more. Ain' gonn' play God no more." He lifted his hands, abraded from his falls throughout the night, blood from the most recent scrapes mingling with dried blood from the earlier glasscut. Gary's eyes focused on the blood. Samantha's blood, his befuddled mind told him. He tried to wipe it away on his jeans, but it wouldn't be removed. The cat came back, and he almost threw it away this time, leaving a great bloody hand print on its back. He had to get this blood off his hands. Then he was going to have to find somewhere to get away, to get free of that damn paper, that damn cat. He wasn't gonna be responsible for any more deaths.

The clouds were lifting, revealing a golden pink dawn in the east. Gary grimaced as the light lanced into his eyes, refracted a thousand times off the lake. The lake... Water. He could wash the blood from his hands before he left, before he found somewhere the paper couldn't find him.

In the graying light of dawn, Gary somehow got his feet under him, and lurched toward the lake.

"Can you see anything?"

"Stop! Stop right here!"

Chuck and Marissa both spoke at the same time, and they all lurched forward as the cabbie slammed on the brakes. Chuck was out of the car and running as they stopped, running through the early morning light to McGinty's van, parked half up on the sidewalk across the parking lot. The driver's side door to the van was open, the annoying chime of the key in the ignition loud in the morning stillness. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he climbed in.

"Gary! Gar!" The van was empty except for half a dozen or so beer bottles strewn around it. Chuck shook his head, then pulled the keys out of the ignition before he got out. Slamming the door shut behind him, he ran back to where Marissa and Spike had just climbed out of the cab, Gary's paper clutched tightly in Marissa's hand. The cabbie reached back to toss Chuck's bag out on the ground behind her.

"It's the van, but Gary's not in it." Chuck answered Marissa's unspoken question. Marissa waited while Chuck paid the cabbie, then he grabbed his bag in one hand and her elbow in the other, dragging them both over to the van. He tossed his bag inside, then locked the doors.

"Okay, he's got to be around here somewhere." Glass ground under his feet as he turned to Marissa, and she winced. Chuck looked down at the remains of another 3 or 4 beer bottles, before looking at her, his blue eyes thoughtful as he tried to decide if he should say anything to her. He didn't have to.

"Beer bottles?" she asked, and Chuck nodded once.

"Yeah," he belatedly remembered to add. "Come on, we've got to find him before it's too late." He took her elbow once more, and they headed off into the park.

* * *

Don't forget to feed the author! 


	2. Chapter 2

Part 6

"I don't see him. I don't see anything." Chuck's hand went up and out in a gesture matching the despair in his voice, before he turned to Marissa. "Let me see the paper again."

Marissa handed it to him without demur. In spite of - or because of - the cold knot of fear in his stomach, Chuck almost dropped a wisecrack about what it took for him to finally get hold of Gary's paper. But one look at Marissa and he kept his mouth shut. Fear and grief warred across her expressive face and she looked, if anything, worse than she had when he got off the airplane.

Chuck shook out the paper a bit louder than he had to, quickly searching for the tiny article he had found buried in the back pages of the paper. Not much of a remembrance for a man who had saved more lives than just about anybody else in the city. Chuck pushed the grim thought away. No, it wasn't, and it wouldn't be. Like so many other times, the article was in the paper so he and Marissa could help, like Gary always - almost always - did. It was there so they could get to Gary before he drowned.

There. The headline was almost apologetically small: MAN DROWNS IN LAKE MICHIGAN. The first line read, "_A man with a reputation for being in the right place at the right time, Gary Hobson, 32, of Chicago, apparently paid with his life yesterday for being in the wrong place at the wrong time._" Chuck skipped that with a shiver, scanning the article for its crucial information of where Gary's bod-- no, Gary would be found. Alive. Maybe not well, but hey, his friends could take care of that once they had him back home where he belonged.

Thirty-first Street Beach. Just south of Grant Park. Which is where they were. As Chuck looked up from the paper, his eye caught on the time Gary was found by early morning joggers: 7:24 a.m. The rest of the article he didn't need to read; one recital for Marissa at the airport had seared it into his memory. He was sure it would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. _Paramedics unable to revive him at the scene, Hobson was pronounced dead on arrival at Cook County Memorial Hospital. An autopsy is scheduled for later in the week to determine the cause of death._

Well, no coroner was carving up his friend's body, not if Chuck Fishman had anything to say about it. He'd seen Quincy reruns enough to know what autopsies were like. He wasn't going to let that happen to Gary. No way, no how. But first he had to find Gary. He paused his anxious scanning of the sand and rocks in front of them long enough to check his watch: 7:02 a.m. Damn. Where was he?

Spike barked suddenly, straining at his leash. Marissa and Chuck both jumped, and Marissa stumbled as the guide dog pulled her off balance. Chuck caught her elbow before she fell, grabbing Spike's lead as well, before he could take off after whatever it was that had captured his interest. Controlling Spike took all their attention for a moment. Then Chuck saw what the animal was so worked up about. Eyes wide, he could only stare at Snow's cat, crouched on the ground 3 feet in front of them. The cat's fur looked funny, like it was matted with something. Chuck's stomach lurched as he recognized the dark stains on the cat: blood. He swallowed, casting an anxious look at Marissa.

"What is it? Can you see anything? Is it Gary?"

Chuck tried to answer her, but it took a couple of tries to get his voice to work. The cat mreeowed at him, then turned and ran off down the lake front.

"Chuck? What is it?" Chuck could hear the growing fear in Marissa's voice. Spike still strained after the cat, but at least he had settled down enough she could hold him by herself. He wasn't sure how much to tell her. Probably the less the better. Dropping Spike's lead, he put one hand on her arm.

"It's Snow's cat. I'm gonna follow him, okay? You'll be--"

"I'll be fine." Marissa tried to put some of her usual confidence into her statement. "Just go find Gary, Chuck. _Please_."

Chuck nodded.

"Yeah, sure." He ran north, after the cat, praying he would be in time.

He couldn't reach the water. Swearing silently, fighting the dizziness that never left him now, fighting the fog that clouded his thoughts, Gary caught himself as he teetered on the edge of the pier; found the one thought and focused on it. Clutched it to him like a man clings to a life raft in stormy seas. He had to reach the water. He had to wash his hands. Slowly Gary knelt on the hard concrete:

"Well, well, look what we have here. Your garden variety nut who thinks he knows more than the rest of us."

No. Not again. Arms braced on the concrete in front of him, Gary hung his head, refusing to look up. Refusing to remember Marley. Refusing to remember what happened to him the last time he was alone with Marley.

"I just want the answer to a few questions, _Gary_."

Gary's gut clenched and flipped. He shut his eyes, fighting the sudden wave of nausea that rose with the undeniable memory - memory? - of cold steel between his teeth, brutally shoved against the tender tissues at the back of his throat. Losing the battle with his stomach, Gary retched bile on the pier. The small effort exhausted him, and he fell to his side, rolling over on his back. The sky do-si-doed with the park around him and his vision grew ominously dark. If he could have seen the truth, the clouds had lifted, the morning dawned golden bright and glorious. But fighting for consciousness, Gary couldn't see anything for a moment. Seconds later, he saw only one thing: Marley. Standing over him. Again.

Gary's eyes wouldn't focus enough to tell him if there was anybody else around. The world spun slowly, and he blinked up at the rogue agent, the cold knot of fear growing in his gut. Oh God. No. Not *alone* with Marley. Not again. Shuddering, he pleaded silently for someone, anyone... but there wasn't anyone there for him. Just like there wasn't anyone there for Samantha. He was alone. Alone except for the smiling apparition above him.

Marley knelt beside him.

"You just threw her soul, away, didn't you, Gary? Samantha's soul. If I'd thrown yours away when I wanted to, Samantha'd still have her soul now, wouldn't she?"

N-N-No. Gary couldn't get the word out past the knot in his throat, past the cotton in his mouth. Dizzy, breathless, he shut his eyes.

*click*

Gary's eyes shot open to find Marley's rifle pointed in his face - again. NO! He lunged, desperate to escape the gun, desperate to avoid the nightmare the second time around. His inebriated brain gave up as he fell over the edge of the pier. Marley's gloating face was the last thing he saw before his world went black.

Chuck wasn't sure the man wallowing on the pier 30 yards in front of him was Gary. That couldn't be his friend, could it? He stared in horror as the man - as Gary - suddenly rolled right over the edge of the pier and into Lake Michigan.

"Gary! Gar!" He ran frantically to the place where his friend had gone over. Throwing himself flat on the pier, Chuck strained desperately for the body floating just beyond his reach. Gary's face was submerged, and he wasn't struggling against the water. Chuck desperately tried to remember his college first aid class - tried to remember how long before drowning victims started breathing water - as he realized he was going to have to go into the lake after his friend. Might as well go for it then. Standing up, remembering to kick off his expensive Italian loafers, Chuck dove headfirst into the lake. He surfaced with a huge involuntarily gasp as the cold water drove the breath from his lungs, choking and coughing next as he swallowed a mouthful of the frigid lake. Geez, he knew there was a reason he never came to the beach in Chicago to swim in the summers. LA beaches were better than this, any day.

Momentarily disoriented, Chuck treaded water while he located first the pier from which he had jumped, and then looked for Gary. Damn! Where was he? It was another few seconds before he realized that the small black dot drifting south, away from him, was actually Gary's head. Geez, how had he floated that far in such a short time? It took only a dozen or so strokes to reach him, only a dozen or so seconds, but Chuck knew in a situation like this every second counted, and right now they were counting against his friend. Grabbing Gary from behind, Chuck turned him so his face was out of the water.

"Gary? Gar!"

There was no response. One arm around Gary's chest underneath his arms, Chuck swam the short distance over to the pier, towing Gary behind him. He couldn't tell if Gary was breathing, and the water was too deep here for him to get them both out of the lake without help. Making sure Gary's head was supported out of the water on his shoulder, Chuck grabbed the concrete pier with his other hand.

"Hey! Help! Anybody! Help!"

He heard Spike bark in the distance, and yelled even louder.

"Marissa! Over here! He-e-e-elp!!"

The cavalry arrived a minute or two later, in the form of Marissa and a man in running gear. Shivering, Chuck helped them lift Gary from the water, then Marissa reached down to help him out of the frigid lake. Gasping, his heart pounding, he knelt beside Gary on the concrete, as the runner checked for his friend's vital signs.

"Is he breathing?" The man shook his head, and tilted Gary's head back to start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Stone cold fear dropped Chuck's stomach to his toes. He moved quickly to check Gary's neck for a pulse, relieved to feel a steady beat there. He wiped away the water that dripped from his chin, wiped away too the desire to shove the stranger away and take care of his friend himself. Chuck forced himself to just watch as the man tried to get Gary breathing again, his blue eyes straining desperately for signs of life in what little he could see of Gary's still, white face.

"Chuck?" Marissa's voice was tight, frightened. She reached out blindly.

Chuck reached up to grab her hand, still fighting to catch his own breath.

"He's got a pulse, but he's not breathing. We're--"

Suddenly, Gary drew in a deep breath, and choked. Quickly the man rolled him over on his side where he coughed and retched up a little bit of water. Listening carefully after Gary finished coughing, the man rolled him back over on his back. Catching Chuck's anxious gaze, he nodded.

"Looks like he's breathing okay."

Chuck scrubbed the moisture from his eyes. Marissa didn't bother. Tears were streaming down her face, as the stranger looked appraisingly from the unconscious Gary to them.

"He smells like a distillery. You know him?"

Chuck bristled at the comment, then reminded himself that the guy had helped save Gary's life.

"Yeah. We been looking for him all night."

The man nodded once, then considered a now shivering Gary.

"How long was he in the water?"

"Not more than a minute or two. I was standing right over there when he went in."

"Well, we should call an ambulance."

"No." Marissa spoke firmly. "If you can help us get him to our van, we'll take him home." The man stared at her, then sought Chuck's eyes for confirmation.

Chuck looked at Marissa for a second, before accepting her decision.

"Yeah. He doesn't live far from here. If you don't mind?"

Shrugging, the man got to his feet.

"He's your friend."

"Yeah. He is."

Marissa sat on the floor in the back of the van holding Gary as Chuck drove them home. She made Spike lay down beside him, hoping their combined warmth would keep hypothermia at bay. Chuck shivered as he waited for the light ahead of him to turn green. He hadn't taken time to change into dry clothes at the park; he didn't have anything for Gary, and it was more important to get him home and dry and warm right now. Gary hadn't come to yet, but he seemed to be in more of a drunken stupor than anything. Sighing, Chuck turned the last corner toward McGinty's. He had no idea how they were going to get Gary up the stairs at McGinty's. He supposed they could call Crumb, but he didn't really like that idea. Which reminded him...

"Marissa?"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you want to call an ambulance?"

"Because the last thing Gary needs right now is to wake up in a hospital."

"Oh." She was probably right. But then again, Marissa usually was.

Crumb was waiting for them when they got there. He gave Chuck a brief nod as he got out of the van.

"Did you find him?"

"Yeah."

Chuck hesitated at the side of the van, unsure about Crumb's response to Gary's inebriated condition. Catching his eye, Crumb held up his hands.

"I don't want to know. I just figured you might need a little help this morning, that's all."

After a moment's consideration, Chuck nodded. He pulled the sliding door open. Crumb didn't say anything, just grimly reached to help Marissa down out of the van.

Between them, Crumb and Chuck got Gary up the stairs to his apartment. Crumb hung around long enough to help strip Gary of his wet clothes and get him into dry sweats and into bed, then went for the first aid kit from the kitchen when they both got a good look at the cuts and abrasions on Gary's hands. One particularly nasty cut on the edge of his palm looked like it could use stitches, but they found enough butterfly bandages in the kit to do for now. Gary didn't wake up at all during their ministrations, and Chuck wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful. As Crumb was leaving, Marissa called to him from where she was pouring coffee.

"Crumb?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you take care of things downstairs for me today?"

"No problem."

After Crumb had gone, Chuck changed out of his own wet things. Dry and finally getting warm, he accepted a cup of coffee from Marissa, then pulled Gary's chair over beside the bed for her.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked, sipping the hot liquid gratefully as she made herself comfortable in the chair.

"We wait for him to sleep it off."

Chuck accepted this reluctantly. He wanted to talk to Gary now. Wanted to be sure his friend was okay. Wanted to shake him and ask him just what in the hell he was trying to prove with a stunt like this; scaring Marissa and himself half to death this way. Sighing, Chuck figured it was probably better if he didn't say all that to Gary. Not yet. Not until they had a chance to find out why this had happened. Oh, he knew it was probably the little girl's accident and death, but Gary had failed a few times before. It had never driven him over the edge like this, though. Chuck shook his head. He was too tired mentally and emotionally to deal with any of this right now.

"Well, in that case, I'm gonna catch a little shut eye on the couch over there."

Marissa nodded, not moving from her post beside Gary. Spike curled at her feet, his tail thumping briefly as Chuck touched her shoulder before he turned away. Stopping as he turned, he watched warily as Snow's cat appeared, jumping up onto Gary's bed with a mreeow. The animal had evidently had time to clean itself up, because its fur had returned to its usual ginger color. Curling around twice, the cat settled down next to Gary, purring loudly. That cat...

Shrugging, Chuck put his coffee down on the table, and, grabbing an extra blanket from the foot of Gary's bed, flopped down on the couch with a sigh. He was asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Part 7

_"You knew!?! You knew this would happen to my baby, and you didn't stop it?!?"_

_Gary's head came up sharply. The woman bearing down on the once-quiet alcove he shared with Father Dow outside the ICU was tall, and probably an attractive woman on her good days. Right now, her face and eyes swollen with tears of grief and rage, she was hysterical, and she was after him._

_"What's the matter? Little black girl don't mean enough to you to save her?"_

_Force of habit had Gary on his feet to face the lady. Father Dow's restraining hand on her arm was angrily shaken off. She advanced toward Gary, and he backed slowly away from her, until the wall behind him cut off retreat._

_Gulping hard, he tried to answer._

_"N-n-no, you, you don't, you don't understand. That's, that's not it, that's not it at all. I, I, I tried, honest, I tried, I just--"_

_She slapped him. Hard. The wall kept him from going all the way down. Face burning not just from the impact of Mrs. Edward's hand, Gary stared at her, his own shame and grief rendering him helpless, speechless in the face of this woman's righteous rage. Father Dow was there again, trying to calm her, spouting something about how she couldn't blame Gary, but as Gary and Samantha's mother's eyes locked, they both knew the priest was wrong. Another man came running through the doors to the ICU; Mr. Edwards, Gary recalled from somewhere, and a couple of nurses came through after him._

_"It's your fault. It's your fault my baby's dying and--" Tears were pouring down Talitha Edward's face as she screamed at him, and she raised her hand to slap him again. Flinching in anticipation, Gary didn't duck. But the second blow never landed. Not physically, anyway._

_"Mrs. Edwards!" Grabbing her upraised arm, Father Dow distracted the woman long enough for Gary to slip away from the wall that held him. Stopping a few steps away, he turned to the sobbing woman, her sad-eyed husband now trying to take her in his arms as Father Dow turned to follow Gary._

_"I, I, I'm truly sorry." Gary fought the tears in his own throat, fought to say what had to be said, knowing that it didn't make a bit of difference to the grief-stricken parents in front of him. "I really, I really tried. I wish I could have been there in time. For all of you." He caught and held Samantha's mother's eyes, again, but his first instinct was right. She didn't care what he had to say. From the shelter of her husband's embrace, she pointed one long finger at him, and screamed._

_"It's your fault! Your fault! If it wasn't for you my baby wouldn't be dying in that bed right now! My baby's dying and it's your fault!"_

_Gary turned and ran._

The muttering from Gary's direction immediatlely captured Marissa and Chuck's attention. Marissa sat up straight in her chair by the bed, one hand reaching out toward Gary. Hurrying over from where he was making more coffee, Chuck sat on the side of the bed beside his friend, one leg folded beneath him.

"Gary?" No response. Eyes closed, Gary shifted restlessly beneath the covers, responding to something only he could see, and mumbled something unintelligible. Bending close to hear, Chuck shook his head as he sat back. Sighing, he looked at Marissa's eager face, opening his mouth to tell her, one more time, that it was a false alarm. It was close to noon, and Gary still hadn't come out of his alcohol induced swoon. Gary's voice cut off Chuck's comment.

"No..." Head jerking away from whatever - or whomever - he saw in his dreams, Gary spoke clearly, frantically, "You don't understand..." But the darkness he wandered in swallowed both his objection and whatever he was objecting to. Chuck shivered, his eyebrows contorted with worry as he stared at his unconscious friend. At least this time it wasn't Marley his friend was raving about. Gary had seemed to be confronting Marley several times already in his alcoholic rambles, and Chuck was more than a little concerned about his state of mind.

Marissa sat back in her chair as it became obvious Gary wasn't waking up - again. Chuck looked from her to the inert form beside him, considering...

"Marissa."

"No." She folded her hands deliberately in her lap as she spoke.

"But you heard him! Whatever's going on his head, it can't be good, and especially not when it's that creep Marley as a central character!" Chuck turned to face her, sliding the leg he had been sitting on down, hands grasping the edge of the bed as he leaned towards her. In the background, Gary didn't move.

"No, Chuck. We've already been through this." Chuck took a deep breath, but before he got his thought out, Marissa put her foot down, in a manner of speaking. "Whatever it is, he's got to deal with it himself. He's got to figure it out on his own. We can't do it for him, and we won't help him any if we interfere. Gary's got to find his own way out into the light again."

"Yeah, well then why are we even here, if there's nothing we can do besides wait?" Chuck stood up, slapping at the bed with one hand as he did so.

"It's just like it was at Christmas, when we lit the candles. Remember, Chuck? Only we're the candles this time. We weren't here ealier, when we should have been, and that's part of why he got lost. The least we can do is be here now to help him find his way out of the darkness. But we can't bring him out of it ourselves."

Chuck slumped, reluctantly capitulating as he stared at the still white face on the bed before him. Dammit! He hadn't flown all the way out here from California just to sit and do nothing! No, but he had come to be here for his friend. And, if this was what being here for Gary meant, then that's what he had to do. But it didn't mean he had to watch.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to go get some lunch, then. You hungry? I'll bring you something up, if you like."

Marissa nodded.

"Yeah, Chuck. That would be great."

Keeping a concerned eye on the still figure in the bed as long as he could, Chuck walked slowly to the door, hesitating once more before he finally opened it and headed downstairs where he could at least still the churning in his stomach. His mind and heart would have to wait a bit longer.

He was going to be sick. Groaning aloud, Gary opened his eyes, closing them again when the bright light sent shafts of pain into his brain. Geez, what a headache... His stomach lurched again, and Gary fought the covers over him. He had to get to the bathro--

"Whoa, there buddy! Take it easy!"

Chuck? What? He must be hallucinating again. Bracing himself for the onslaught of light, Gary opened his eyes just a slit, and found two Chucks dancing ominously with three Marissas over him. Closed them again, fighting the swinging dizziness that sent his bed into slow loop-de-loops around him. Swallowed, fighting the nausea. Gave up on trying to make sense of Chuck's presence here... where? He had to find a bathroom before he lost it.

"Sick." He groaned more than said.

"What?" The Chuck voice came closer.

"Sick. Gonna be sick." Gary opened his eyes briefly, saw comprehension dawning on Chuck's face as he shut them again.

"Okay, then, come on, we'll get you to the bathroom." Arms attached to the Chuck voice were removing obstructions from his way, helping him sit up, then he was pulled to his feet and someone short put a shoulder under his arm. Stumbling, unable to open his eyes for fear of passing out again, Gary let himself be guided to what he hoped was the bathroom.

"Here ya go." Gary risked one look, dimly catching sight of the toilet before his knees gave way. He reached blindly for the commode in front of him as he fell. Chuck caught him as he landed on his knees, then held his head over the toilet as Gary retched helplessly. Nothing came up, but it took a long time about it. Finished, Gary's companion helped him scoot backwards until he felt the cool, hard tile of the bathroom wall behind him. He leaned against it with a grateful sigh. Now that his nausea had passed for the moment, maybe he could figure out where he was and who was with him.

Resolutely pushing the dizziness and the pounding headache to the back of his mind, Gary opened his eyes to find himself in his own bathroom above McGinty's, facing a very worried Chuck, while Marissa hovered in the background, a concerned frown on her face.

He blinked. Surely not...

"Chuck?"

Squatting down in front of Gary, eyebrows up inquisitively, Chuck rested his elbows on his knees.

"Yeah buddy," Chuck whispered carefully, "So, how ya doing?"

Another wave of nausea threatened to crest and Gary closed his eyes. Arms crossing protectively over his stomach, he groaned in response to his friend's question. Chuck snorted.

"Yeah, well that about says it all. You want something for that headache I know you've got?"

Gary nodded once, just a tiny fraction of movement. Anymore and he'd really be sick. He put the quandary of Chuck's presence behind him for the moment, concentrating more on keeping up and down in their proper alignment, and hoping against hope he was done with the dry heaves.

He wasn't.

It was half an hour before Gary left the bathroom. Marissa had gone downstairs to find something for him to drink or eat that wouldn't upset his stomach any more than it already was. Chuck helped him back to his bed. His head pounding, Gary lay back with a relieved sigh, then felt movement in front of his face. He opened his eyes just enough to see Chuck waving two acetaminophen tablets, with a glass of water.

"Here. Maybe you can keep these down now."

Gary accepted the medicine, and the water, sitting up the little bit required to drink from the glass before handing it back Chuck. He let himself carefully down to the bed, wishing he felt better. Wishing he hadn't drunk that bottle of tequila. Wishing he could have saved Samantha... His hands! The blood. Gary jumped, opening his eyes to inspect his hands. Chuck watched with a troubled frown from the chair by the bed. Bandages now covered the worst of the scrapes, and one deep gash was held tightly closed by several small butterfly bandages. There were no signs of blood - his or anyone else's. Gary closed his eyes. The water hadn't worked. His hands were clean, physically anyway. But it hadn't been his hands after all that needed washed. It was his heart. He didn't know how he was going to take care of that.

"I just throw them away." His eyes flew open at Marley's voice, and he searched the room frantically for any signs of the rogue agent that had haunted him throughout his drunken night. Finally, his gaze came to rest on Chuck, still frowning at him. Chuck?

"What're you doing here? I thought you had a big deal going out in California." Gary couldn't and didn't try to keep the resentment out of his voice.

Chuck's eyebrow went up. Gary could tell he was surprised, and probably irritated by his attitude, but Gary didn't care. Why should he feel grateful when Chuck was the one who had bagged out on the paper - and him - to begin with?

"Yeah, well a call from Marissa that you're missing in action and probably drunk as a skunk to boot sort of got my attention." Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, Chuck kicked at the bed with one foot.

Gary glared at Chuck.

"You didn't have to come. I would have been fine."

"Yeah right. You'd have been feeding the fish in Lake Michigan if I hadn't dragged you out of there this morning."

That got Gary's attention.

"The lake? Out of the lake?" Confused, he frowned as he tried to remember what had happened last night.

"Yeah. You were wallowing on the pier and then you just rolled right in. You want to tell me why?"

A sudden memory rose in Gary's mind, and he shuddered, closing his eyes. Chuck's eyes narrowed, but Gary didn't see his friend's concern. He was trying once more to push the memory of Marley -- being alone with Marley -- away and failing. His heart was pounding, and without thinking, he said out loud, "Marley."

"What?"

Gary didn't open his eyes. Couldn't. The fear was too strong, the taste of steel in his sour mouth too real.

"Marley. Crumb... Crumb wasn't there. Marley, he..." He couldn't say it. Could only relive it over and over again in his mind: Marley, the gun between his feet and shoved into his mouth, Marley pulling the trigger... He shuddered again, swallowed against the rising nausea.

"Hey, Gary. It's all right. Marley's dead, remember?"

Gary didn't respond, just laid there shivering with his eyes closed. Chuck hadn't lived the nightmare like he had. It was most definitely not all right. Chuck touched his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

"Gary! It's okay. That's just the booze in your system, telling you lies. Marley died, and Crumb got there before whatever happened, okay?"

Gary didn't respond, so this time Chuck grabbed his shoulder and shook him roughly.

"Gary!"

Gary's eyes flew open, and Chuck pulled back as Gary stared at him, not trying to hide his growing anger.

"Just knock it off, all right?" Gary shut his eyes again, and swallowed. Geez, he was going to throw up again. Groaning aloud, he made it to the bathroom on his own this time. It didn't take long for his system to reject the water and the medicine, and, breathing hard, Gary leaned against the tank when he was done. The cool porcelain felt good against his flushed face. Still fighting the picture of Marley's face looming over him, Gary turned his focus on Chuck. His friend was reclining against one side of the bathroom door, arms crossed and a decidedly unsympathetic look on his face.

"What are you staring at?" Gary closed his eyes again, trying to control his irrational anger at his friend. Right now he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Alone in his shame, his humiliation... his defeat. His failure.

"You, for one. You want to tell me just exactly what you were thinking before you did this? Not exactly a smart idea Gary, and if I hadn't seen it, I don't think I would have believed it. What's gotten into you lately?"

Gary winced as Chuck's voice rose, then all the anger and grief he'd been fighting for the last three weeks suddenly ignited within him, and Chuck was the flashpoint. Staggering to his feet, Gary shook one finger out in his friend's face, the effect slightly ruined by the fact that he had to keep the other hand braced against the wall to keep from falling over.

"What's gotten into me? Wha, what's gotten into me?"

Chuck backed up a bit, warily eyeing his friend.

"Look, Gary, we know about the little girl, Sabrina--"

"Samantha!" Gary hissed, advancing towards his friend, not quite so reliant on the wall now. Eyes wide, Chuck backed up some more, but Gary wasn't done.

"You, you, you left, you weren't here, you were just out there taking care of Chuck and the rest of the world can just go to hell. That's all that matters anyway, isn't it? Taking care of Chuck, and money and girls, in that order. Don't give a damn about me, the paper, Marissa, McGinty's or anything else. Just Chuck." Gary was yelling by now, staggering after Chuck across the loft. Somwhere in the back of his mind he squelched the small thought that he probably was being too hard on his friend. No way. He wasn't being any harder on Chuck than he'd been on himself lately. Neither one of them heard Marissa come in.

"If you hadn't run off and left me here, Samantha'd be alive today. Did you know that? Huh? I missed the damn El train, and she died because you had to run off to California chasing some pipe dream. Didn't stop to think there might be things you could do here with that money. Didn't stop to think there were people here that needed you, that you could help. No one else matters, do they, Chuck? Just Chuck. Screw the rest of us. Screw the whole fucking world as long as you've got your money and your bimbos." Shaking, Gary tripped over nothing, catching himself on the back of the couch as he fell.

The look on Chuck's face told it all as he stared at his friend. He'd never, never thought of it that way. But, that was exactly what Gary had just said, right? Spike's claws clicked on the floor as he shifted his weight, and Chuck turned to Marissa, looking for help that wasn't coming. She just stood in the door, holding a glass of something in her hand, the shocked expression on her face matching his. Gary's battle for equilibrium long since lost, he sank to the floor behind the couch. Sitting there, face in his hands, he couldn't stop the tears of rage? Pain? Whatever. He heard Chuck come around the couch, swallowing audibly as he realized Gary was crying.

"Gar, that's not what..."

"Like hell it's not!" Gary's voice had dropped, but he was anything if not angrier. Staring up at Chuck as he knelt next to him, not caring anymore if Chuck saw just how shattered he was by Samantha's death, by his own failure, he grabbed Chuck's shirt with one hand. "Like hell it's not! Samantha's dead and she wouldn't be if you'd been here like you were supposed to be! I couldn't do it by myself, and *you* *weren't* *here!*" He shoved Chuck roughly away.

Chuck slumped to the floor beside Gary.

"Gary... I'm sorry, okay? You're right, I never thought about anything, anyone else. If it makes you feel better, it's all my fault."

Gary lifted his head, eyes wide in surprise at Chuck's capitulation. Remorse took over. He shook his head, drawing in a sharp breath and wincing a second later. The room spun around him, and he closed his eyes, trying not to fall over any further onto the floor than he already was. A moment later, he answered Chuck.

"N-n-n-no, Chuck, it, it's not your fault. It's mine." Gary rubbed his face tiredly, vainly wishing the pounding drums in his head to silence. "The, the paper's my responsiblity. I should, I should have been there. I should have--"

"Shit, Gary, it's not your fault! You try harder than anybody out there to help people. So what if you don't make it once in a while?" Chuck's eyes were blazing, but whether or not it was sympathy for Gary or discomfort at what he had just said, Gary didn't know. Chuck went on. "You tried, Gary, you tried, but you're not Superman. This isn't some comic strip and you're not a cartoon guy in blue tights that can do everything. You're human, Gar, you make mistakes. You gotta let go. Like that Bible Mrs. Danforth gave me says, you gotta forgive yourself."

Gary couldn't help it. His jaw dropped as he stared at Chuck in amazement, looking away and then back again before he could trust himself to speak. Even so, it took a couple of tries before he got the words out.

"You, you actually read that?"

Chuck shrugged.

"Hey, I'm not a total jerk. And yeah, I read it... well, some of it." He amended as Gary continued to stare at him. "Okay, maybe it was just a little bit of it. A couple of pages. But the point is, Gary, you can't do it all. You gotta let yourself be human once in a while. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you, buddy, but you just gotta remember that you can't save everybody. That's not your job." Eyebrows up almost to his hair line, Chuck grinned as his blue eyes met Gary's green ones. It was obvious he was already proud of what he was going to say next. " Someone else has that job - God, I think His name is."

Gary looked away, unable to match his friend's attempt at humor. He really didn't want to talk about it anymore, and the pounding in his head was the perfect out. Groaning, he asked, "You got any more of those pills?"

"Yeah, sure, buddy." Chuck stood, offering his hand to help Gary rise. But Gary didn't see it as he sat, head hanging, unsure for the moment was worse: the pounding in his head, or the ache in his heart.

* * *

Part 8

Chuck looked up from the ending credits of Independence Day to find Gary conked out on the couch, stretched full length on the cushions, one arm behind his head, one leg hanging to the floor. This time he seemed to be sleeping soundly. Probably had a lot to do with the acetaminophen he had finally been able to keep down. And, better yet in Chuck's estimation, there was no strange mumbling or jerking around. No nightmares, then. Good.

Turning off the TV with the remote, Chuck watched his friend for a long moment before getting up and heading for the fridge. A beer sure sounded good right about now... Glancing guiltily at the recumbent figure on the sofa, Chuck shivered. No, on second thought, pop would do nicely. He retrieved a can from the fridge and opened it as he joined Marissa at the table. She had gotten some paperwork from the office downstairs and was going over it. She had also had him remove all the beer from Gary's fridge first thing when he woke up earlier today.

Marissa's hands faltered as he joined her, and she laid the papers down after a moment. The lamp by the couch the only light on in the loft, it warmed the room with its golden glow as the day outside waned. The two sat in silence in the half-dark, united in concern for the man slumbering -- peacefully, it looked like -- across the room. While life was definitely looking better for him now than it had this morning, neither of them were sure things were really under control yet.

"How long can you stay?" Chin resting against one hand while the other toyed with the thick braille papers in front her, Marissa kept her voice quiet, not wanting to wake Gary.

Chuck took a long drink of his pop before answering. How long could he stay? He had commitments in California, things to do, people to see... He also had a friend here who had come through for him more than once - a friend who was still in pretty desperate shape. Struggling with conflicting priorities, shuffling them over in his mind, he finally offered, "Three, maybe four days."

Marissa didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Even in the gathering gloom Chuck could read the thought on her face. What would happen to Gary when he left again? How would he cope with the burden the paper laid on him, unrelentingly, unceasingly, every day of his life without Chuck there to back him up? Chuck didn't like the guilty feeling that crept over him in her silence.

"First thing we're gonna do tomorrow is start looking for a manager." He spoke in a stage whisper.

Hand falling to the table, Marissa sat up straight and shook her head. Her disgust was obvious.

"You just don't get it, do you?"

Chuck paused, the can of pop halfway to his mouth.

"Don't get what?"

"The fact that Gary hasn't hired another manager because he doesn't want to replace you. Because running this place was something you two, we three have always done together. Because this place is not just a business, it's part of the paper, part of the life Gary's stuck with because of the paper." The cat jumped up on the table between them with a mreeow. Chuck glared at it. Marissa ignored it. She wasn't done yet.

"We've always seen the paper as being Gary's, Chuck. It was something you and I played with, toyed with, but it wasn't ours. It was his."

"Yeah, so?"

"The point is, it's not just Gary's. It's ours too. The paper's as much our responsibility as it is his." Chuck was sure he didn't like where she was going with this. Marissa wouldn't be deterred. "He can't do what he does for the paper without us. You and I, we've always been just as integral to the rescues as he is. We're not second bananas, Chuck, we're right up there with Gary. We have to be there too." She paused, then dropped the clincher. "Or, do you want Gary to end up like Lucius Snow?"

Chuck was irritated. Of course he didn't want Gary to end up like that. Recluse. Crackpot. Those were some of the nicer descriptions of Gary's predecessor with the paper. Things went downhill quickly from there. There was no way he wanted his friend to end up like that, alone with the terrible responsibility of the paper. But, that meant...

Now Chuck really didn't like this. What was he supposed to do, give up all his hopes and dreams for his own life just to serve the cosmic paperboy that delivered the paper a day early? He had places to go, things to do... And the pieces suddenly fell into place. Gary had places he wanted to go, things he wanted to do. Gary had hopes and dreams. A family. A normal life. A chance to have some happiness of his own. The paper so far had kept all that from him. Looked like it would continue to keep that from him, maybe for the rest of his life. Chuck shivered as he began to understand for the first time just how Gary must have felt as he struggled with what his life had become. As he learned to live with the shackles that bound him to a future predicated on the paper's whims instead of his own desires.

And he, Chuck Fishman, had just walked away from it all, from the paper, from his friends -- from Gary. Because he thought he could. Because he wanted to. Because he was tired of the paper and its demands. Gary was right, he hadn't been worried about anyone but himself.

And two people so far had paid for his selfishness. A little girl named Sabri-- no, Samantha. And Gary.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and Chuck gladly turned away from the uncomfortable emotions Marissa's words had stirred in him. Through the frosted glass window he could see the vague outline of a heavyset man: Crumb. Chuck sighed. Not again.

When he had gone downstairs for lunch earlier in the day, the retired detective had cornered him about Gary, wanting to know just what exactly was going on. Chuck had tried to put the man off, but Crumb wouldn't be diverted. This was out of character for Gary, and Crumb knew it and was bound and determined to know what had happened to bring Hobson to this point. Unnerved, Chuck was reminded just a little too much of the interrogations he had gone through with the man when Gary was suspected of trying to assassinate the President. At least this time Marley hadn't been hovering in the background, watching and waiting like a hungry spider in it's web. Chuck had finally given out the whole story about Samantha as he knew it, excluding the paper's role, of course, feeling extremely disloyal to his friend upstairs the whole time. Crumb had listened quietly, then basically run Chuck off.

Shaking the picture of Marley off with a shudder and a glance at the couch, Chuck rose to get the door.

Funny thing was, it seemed to him once Crumb understood Gary had failed to stop something bad from happening, he mellowed right out. Looked downright sympathetic. Chuck couldn't even begin to figure that one out. Gary stirred on the couch, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting up abruptly as Chuck opened the door to admit the detective.

"Thought youse guys might like something to eat." Crumb advanced into the room with a tray of sandwiches and drinks -- none of them alcoholic, Chuck saw with relief as he followed him over to the table. There was one bowl of soup on the tray. Placing the tray beside Marissa, Crumb set a cup of tea by her hand, then picked up the bowl of soup and headed over towards Gary. Sitting with elbows on his knees, hunched over his clasped hands, Gary was looking everywhere but at Crumb. His body language was obvious: he wanted to be anywhere but right here, facing Crumb. Chuck almost said something, but it was too late. Crumb set the bowl on the coffee table in front of Gary.

"That ought to sit okay in your stomach. Plain old chicken noodle, maybe not as good as your mom makes, but good enough."

Face flushing, Gary still wouldn't look at Crumb. He nodded shortly.

"Thanks."

Crumb sat on the edge of chair Chuck had recently vacated, silently watching the younger man in front of him. Worried about just what the man was going to say to Gary, Chuck took a step toward his friend, but Snow's cat appeared in front of him, and Marissa's hand grabbed him as he tried to step over it. Her "No," was just loud enough for him to hear. His hand half-raised and his mouth half-open to object, Chuck looked from her to the silent pair over by the couch. Marissa had been right about things so far, he thought, maybe she was right about this. Still, he'd pay attention, and get Crumb out of there in a hurry if it looked like he was gonna land too hard on Gary. Shrugging, he sat down at the table.

On the other side of the room, Crumb shifted, the creak of the chair beneath his bulk loud in the silence.

"You oughta eat that before it gets cold. It goes down better that way."

Gary's eyes flicked toward Crumb, then back to the soup before him. He stared at it for a moment, then shrugged.

"Yeah." When Crumb still didn't leave, still sat there looking at him, Gary nervously got up and paced over to the window by the TV. Standing half-hidden in the shadows just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp, he leaned against the wall with one arm, staring out the window at the growing twilight. Crumb silently watched him as Chuck, fingers drumming soundlessly on the table, watched Crumb. Marissa found her tea and sipped at it. Of everyone there, she was the only one who wasn't wound tight as a drum. Then, visibly coming to some sort of a decision, Crumb followed Gary over to the window.

"Hobson."

"No." Standing stiffly, Gary stared out the window, the one short word his only response to the man behind him.

Crumb hitched at his pants, then stepped further into the shadows that half-obscured Gary. Chuck tensed, ready to leap to his friend's aid, but Marissa's hand on his arm again stopped him. He didn't like it, but he stayed where he was. The cat hissed at him from where it lay on the floor at his feet, tail twitching.

"Hobson, you can't beat yourself up about this. You gotta let it go. Trust me, I know. I been there, been where you are. Hell, ain't a cop or fireman worth his salt in Chicago what hasn't been where you are now. What you do, whatever it is, it ain't so different than the guy out walking his beat, or the guy trying to put the fire out before somebody gets hurt." Crumb paused, his eyes watching, assessing the impact of his words on Gary. Taking Gary's lack of response as tacit permission to continue, he took a deep breath and went on.

"Look, when I was young kid, like you -- no, younger than you, just a pup, a raw rookie out of the Academy, I screwed up, screwed up big." He waved his hands in front of him as he spoke. "The bust was goin' down, and I was supposed to be in a certain place, at a certain time." Startled, Gary shot him a look. Crumb either didn't notice, or chose not to. Gary turned back to the window.

"I was supposed to be watching the other officers' backs. Well, I was the hot shot rookie, and I didn't want to be left out of the action. I went on in after my partner instead of staying put, like I was s'posed to. Guy came around the back, got the drop on another officer. Upshot of it was, a good man went down that day because I wasn't where I was supposed to be, when I was supposed to be there."

Chuck stared at Crumb, and Marissa even froze at that one. Gary finally turned around to face the bartender. One thought was paramount in all their minds. Just how much had Crumb figured out about what Gary really did? Gary caught Chuck's eye from across the room, and Chuck shook his head vehemently, finding himself slightly irritated that Gary didn't even bother looking at Marissa.

Crumb took advantage of the fact he evidently had captured Gary's full attention. He stepped up directly in front of Gary, pointing one gnarled finger at his chest. Though he spoke softly, as if for Gary's ears alone, Crumb's voice was heavy with the authority of expereince.

"I tried what you're trying, a lot of cops I know have tried it, and I'll tell you right now, though I think you've already figured it out, it won't help. It'll just make things worse, and one day you'll wake up and realize you missed out on another save because you were too busy trying to drown the one you blew." Gary's eyes, appearing almost black in the dim light, were wide with shock as he stared at Crumb.

Crumb's rough face softened noticeably as he took in the younger man before him. It was obvious to Chuck that he chose his next words with extreme care. Looking full into Gary's face, reaching out with one hand to cuff his shoulder gently, he said, "You gotta let yourself off the hook, kid. You gotta face the fact you're human, you can't save everyone that needs saving. Good cops, they know that. You do the best you can out there on the streets, and when you come home and face yourself in the mirror at night you know you did what you could. And that has to be enough. The rest, well the rest is up to someone else."

Gary swallowed, and looked away from Crumb, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides. Closing his eyes, he worked his throat, finally choking his words out.

"You, you don't, you don't understand," he began, his eyes meeting Crumb's, unable to hide the pain in them anymore. "It, it, it wasn't a cop, it wasn't, it wasn't another adult, it, it, it was--" He couldn't say it. Gary turned away, staring out into the darkness surrounding him.

Crumb put a hand on Gary's shoulder. Chuck could hardly believe this was the same rough, gruff man they'd known for the last two years.

"It was a little girl. And that makes it harder. Makes it worse. But, it doesn't change what you have to do. You have to let it go." His voice was gentle. Gary swallowed again, dredging up more arguments, fighting the comfort Crumb was offering him. Crumb wouldn't let him push it away.

"Look, kid, that little girl, wherever she is right now, she knows better than to hold what happened against you. And, I don't care what her mom said, what happened to her little girl wasn't your fault. It can't be. And you can't let her make it be." He gave Gary a gentle shake. "You did more than anybody else to save her little girl, and you didn't make it. That happens sometimes. It's hard, ‘cause you care. ‘Cause you want to do the right thing. But you gotta let it go. You gotta let yourself off the hook, Gary." Their eyes caught and held, the older man, the voice of painful experience, and the younger man, learning the painful lesson. Crumb's gaze was insistent, refusing to let Gary slap away the absolution he was offering. Finally, swallowing again, Gary nodded.

Crumb held his gaze for a moment or two longer, then with an abrupt nod of his own, turned away from Gary.

"Well, I gotta get downstairs and pour some drinks before my boss finds out I'm slacking." He walked to the door. "You can bring that stuff down later when you're done, Fishman. And Marissa, if you need a ride home tonight, let me know, okay?"

Marissa nodded.

"Yeah, sure. Probably later."

Crumb nodded, and with one backward glance at Gary, still frozen by the window, went out and shut the door behind him.

In the sudden silence, Chuck stared at Marissa, who was sipping her tea now with an unmistakable "I told you so" look on her face. The cat jumped up and ran over to curl around Gary's feet. His eyes following the motion, Chuck frowned. Gary hadn't moved. He started to get up, and Marissa's hand for the third time that night caught his arm. The shake of her head was unmistakable, and Chuck slowly sat back down, watching her carefully. Then the bathroom door slammed, and they both jumped. Chuck looked at the spot Gary had been glued to for so long, then back at Marissa.

"How'd you know?"

Marissa smiled her satisfied smile as she finished her tea.

"I had a suspicion. You weren't here when Crumb first came to me about the inventory. He cares about Gary, more than maybe he's willing to admit. What they do isn't that different, like he said." Chuck took a deep breath and blew it out, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, well..."

"Hand me one of those sandwiches, would you please?"

Back against the wall, Gary sank to the bathroom floor for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Elbows resting on his upraised knees, he buried his face in his arms. His head was spinning again, but not from the alcohol, not this time. This time he was trying to get his thoughts around a bigger thing: forgiveness. Absolution. The things he hadn't realized he was seeking all those times he had gone to the hospital to check on Samantha. The things that her mother had denied him, that he had denied himself.

He rubbed his face, then looked up at the ceiling he could barely see in the fading light of the day outside, fighting the knot in his throat, the tears burning in his eyes.

Could Crumb be right? Could Gary really believe that Samantha, from wherever she was -- heaven, surely, there had to be a heaven when it came to little kids, whatever you believed about grown-ups -- could he really believe that she forgave him? Would that be enough for him to forgive himself?

Suddenly, he knew. He didn't know why or how or where, but he knew. She did. As clearly as if he had heard her say it, Gary knew in his heart that Samantha forgave him. That she wanted him to forgive himself.

Losing the battle against the burning in his eyes, Gary hung his head and sobbed.

* * *

Part 9

Gary came out of the bathroom almost an hour later to find Chuck helping Marissa gather her things. Obviously she was getting ready to leave for the night. Just as obviously, Chuck wasn't planning on going anywhere. Gary hadn't decided what he thought about that yet. As he walked around his bed and the newspapers stacked at the end of it, both of them stopped what they were doing and turned to face him. Avoiding their eyes for the moment, he walked to where Marissa was standing by the table. Weariness was evident in every sagging line of her normally straight carriage, her usual sparkle - or bite, depending on your point of view - missing tonight. That was his fault too, and he knew it. He couldn't avoid that fact any more than he could avoid the stark white bandage on her left hand. Might as well get this over with.

"Marissa..." One hand out to touch her arm, Gary's voice died as he finally faced Marissa. Her soul stared at him from her sightless eyes; the wounded question there was almost more than he could bear. Gary swallowed, his gaze dropping to the floor between his feet as his hand fell to his side. Briefly he closed his eyes, wishing for once he was blind himself. Then at least he wouldn't be able to see the pain his folly had caused his friend. This was going to be harder than he thought. Chuck, now, Chuck would have just blown the last 24 hours off with a wisecrack and a threat of revenge someday maybe. But Marissa... She was the steady one, the stalwart one. The one who was always there for him. The one he had abandoned at the hospital last night, leaving her to find her way home alone, in the dark, from the middle of Chicago. Not a thing he'd like to confess to his mom. Or his dad, for that matter. Bernie Hobson, for all his bluster, was a gentleman, and he'd taught his son to be the same - on most occasions.

Gary opened his eyes, took a deep breath and looked up at his friend once more. Chuck backed away, giving the two of them some space.

"Marissa... about, about last night. I'm sorry--"

"No, Gary. Don't even say it."

Uh-oh. She was upset. More upset than he had realized, as it slowly dawned on him that she was near tears. Marissa? Crying? And it was all his fault. Shoulders slumped, hands working at his sides, Gary stared at his friend in silence. Geez, Hobson, you can't just go down on your own, you gotta drag your friends down-- His self-recriminations were cut short by Marissa's voice.

"Gary, you don't owe me anything. I owe you an apology. A big one."

Huh? Gary's eyebrows contracted into a frown and the nervous clenching of his hands stopped as he stared at Marissa. What was she talking about? He opened his mouth to object, but she didn't let him, putting one hand out to find and grasp his arm with her usual uncanny accuracy.

"Gary, I'm sorry, I don't know how I let this get by me for so long. I mean, I know you, and I know the paper, and what it demands sometimes, and I should have realized when you quit talking about anything to do with it that something was bothering you. Chuck even called me after he talked to you that one night and I still didn't catch on. For all the things you've done for me, all the times you've been there for me, I wasn't there for you this time, and I'm sorry." She shook her head, slowly. "I'm so very sorry Gary."

Shit. Marissa hated that word, "sorry." And now she was forced to use it, because of him. Because of his stupidity. But, beyond that, Gary was thoroughly confused. What was she talking about, not being there for him? She'd always been there, putting more into the paper sometimes than any of them. It never ceased to amaze him how she functioned better in this world with her handicap than most sighted people he knew. He didn't call running McGinty's by herself without him or Chuck "not being there." And, what phone call from Chuck? He hadn't talked to him in how long? Looking back and forth between Marissa and Chuck, who stood back a bit from the table, hands in his pockets and chewing his lower lip as he watched, Gary realized they were waiting for him to say something.

"That's, that's all right, Marissa." A sudden memory of saying those exact words to Chuck a few months ago surfaced. Chuck looked slightly ill at ease, as if facing the same memory.

Her grip tightened on his arm.

"No Gary, it's *not* all right."

"What?"

"It's not all right. You can't just say ‘that's okay' to mollify me, and then go off and blame yourself anyway."

"Well, I, I wasn't, I wasn't gonna do that."

"Yeah you were." Gary turned to face Chuck, eyes wide with shock. Marissa's hand fell away as Chuck stepped up beside her to poke at Gary with a finger much as Crumb had earlier in the evening. "That's what you do, Gar, you take the world on your shoulders, and you take all the blame when something goes wrong. You did it with Samantha, you did it earlier today when I tried to apologize to you, and you're doing it now. Crumb wouldn't let you get away with it, or you would have done it to him too." Chuck took a deep breath, his eyes serious. "Gary, you do more than any of us to make the world a better place. The least you can do is let us take the blame when we deserve it. You shouldn't carry any more than you already have to carry." Both hands went back in his pockets as he looked at Gary, wide-eyed, waiting with Marissa to see if Gary could accept - would accept - his words.

Gary shrugged his shoulders, and stared around the loft. His stomach rumbled uneasily, still not entirely happy with him after the tequila last night. He didn't quite know what to think about this latest turn of events. Truth was, he didn't want to think about it at all. The day had been way too full of such stuff already. As he hesitated, Crumb opened the door.

"Marissa? You ready?" Crumb came in, nodding to Gary briefly as he walked over to help Marissa with her coat. Gary realized irritably that Crumb was in on the conspiracy to not leave him alone tonight either. What did they think he was gonna do? Go out and tie on another bender? Geez, after last night he'd be crazy... last night... Gary swallowed at the sudden taste of steel in his mouth, and turned away from his friends for a moment as he fought the abrupt butterflies in his stomach. Marley... God, he wasn't going to face that again tonight, was he?

Marissa's touch on his arm startled him. She stood beside him, trying to be bright and cheerful, but he could see how much the effort cost her.

"Gary... Samantha's okay now, you have to know that. Where she is, there's no hurt and no crying and nothing bad. She's happy. If you can't believe that, then let me believe it for you. Because I know it's true."

Gary stared at her. How'd she..? But Marissa had faith. He knew that. She always had. Faith in God, faith in the paper, faith in him, in his ability to do the things the paper wanted. And when he fell down, here she was, faith just as strong as ever. Faith in him, still intact. His throat tight, it took him a minute to reply, a minute in which he and Chuck and Crumb studiously avoided looking at each other.

"Yeah, sure, Marissa. Uh, thanks." Tired, emotionally exhausted, the faint southern twang in his voice was fully evident. Marissa smiled at the familiar sound.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah."

Crumb nodded once more to Gary and Chuck, and taking her arm, guided Marissa toward the stairs. As the door closed behind them, Chuck began gathering the debris from their casual supper; the clank and clatter of colliding dinner- and silverware threatened to set Gary's omnipresent headache off again. He was tired, too, bone tired and heart weary. He glanced at the clock: 9:31. And he felt like it was hours later and he was years older.

Taking the tray, Chuck headed downstairs without a word. Gary stood silently as the door closed once more behind his friend. Truly alone for the first time today, his sigh of relief was cut short as the shadows in his apartment suddenly seemed to be moving, shifting shape innocently into nothing as fast as he looked at them, while out of the corner of his eye the next shadow would begin to move, take on the form of something - no, someone. Skin crawling, Gary turned frantically, trying to follow the flowing shapes, struggling vainly to quash the voices and images crawling from his nightmares to join them. Samantha's form no longer among them, that didn't stop the rest from rising once more.

"No." He spoke it out loud as much for himself as the specters surrounding him.

"Do you think you can keep this down inside?"

Gary spun around. No. He was alone in his loft. There was no one there. Chuck... was gone again. Marley leered at him from the shadows. Gary rubbed his eyes, denying the apparition. Geez, how long did it take to get all the alcohol out of his system? Surely by now--"

"Cat got your tongue? You still haven't answered my question." The Marley figure loomed before him, closer now. Gary backed away from it, almost tripping over the chair behind him. "You can't cheat it, you can't wish it away. Something's gonna happen. Whether you like it or not, something's got to happen."

Shaking, rigid, hands and jaw clenched, Gary confronted the image before him.

"Wh- wh- wh- what's gotta happen?"

Marley smiled, and the temperature in the room dropped 10 degrees.

"You threw Samantha's soul away. Whether she blames you or not is irrelevant." Marley's voice was calm, reasonable. Almost friendly. "And, you know the price. A life for a life. A soul for a soul."

Cat appeared from nowhere, curling around his feet. Gary swayed, closing his eyes. No... this couldn't be real. Marley was dead. Dead as a doornail, he told himself bitterly. Dead at my own two feet. Just like Samantha... NO! He shoved the picture away, but he couldn't shove the truth away. He kicked the cat, and it skidded across the floor with a yowl. Gary couldn't care. Wouldn't care. The fear was too real, too strong. He needed... He needed a beer.

The small refrigerator was open and Gary was crouched down, searching though it without any conscious decision on his part. It was just what was necessary to drown the fear, drown the conviction that it wasn't enough, forgiveness wasn't, that more was required of him, would be required of him. That Marley would be there again tonight to taunt him, torment him. Gary shoved the carton of milk and cans of pop frantically around the fridge, as if a beer would appear magically if he just moved them into the right arrangement--wait, he knew where to look! The last time he had filled his fridge, there hadn't been room for all the beer. Turning, Gary quickly searched the cabinet beneath the microwave. There! A whole 6 pack, unopened, behind the empty Ramen noodle carton. Throwing the carton on the floor and kicking it out of his way, Gary reached for the beer, setting it on the counter as he searched for the bottle opener. His hands were shaking by the time he found it, and he could feel Marley in the room behind him. It took three tries, but he managed to open the bottle.

It didn't take him long to finish the first beer, or the second. Marley was there, in the background, just waiting, like a spider when it knows the prey is in the web, knowing all that remains is for the sacrifice to stop struggling and accept his fate. As Gary downed the third beer, he could hear Marley walking across the room, coming up behind him--

"Gar? What the hell are you doing?"

Gary jumped, the almost-empty bottle flying out of his hand to shatter on the floor at Chuck's feet as Gary whirled around to face him.

"D-d-did you, d-d-did you have, did you have to sneak up on me like that?" Backed against the counter, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, Gary couldn't meet Chuck's eyes.

Eyebrows up, Chuck looked incredulously from the bottles on the counter behind Gary to the mess on the floor, and then back at his friend. Gary flushed, refusing still to meet Chuck's enquiring gaze. They both knew Chuck hadn't snuck up. It was Gary's own compulsion, his own irrational fear, his own... addiction that had kept him so occupied he hadn't heard the door to the apartment open. His paranoia had made Chuck's footsteps into something more ominous, a wild hallucin--

"You can't run away from your fate. You might as well go toward it." Gary started, looking around wildly. There was only Chuck, an anxious frown now creasing his face as he stepped closer to his friend. Standing up straight, Gary ignored him, searching the shadows beyond them anxiously for some sign of Marley. What fate? What did the Marley voice want with him?

"You know the price."

Damn. He needed another beer. He needed to make the voice shut up, make it all go away, deaden the pain, stop the roiling in his gut that told him this whole thing wasn't over yet - not by a long shot. Without looking at Chuck, he turned around and fumbled for the bottle opener and another beer.

"Hey! Gary!"

Gary's efforts to open the fourth bottle were stopped short as Chuck's hands grabbed his.

Blue eyes hard as he stared up at Gary, Chuck's expression was a mixture of anger and... fear? Gary couldn't figure that out. He didn't try. He had other, more pressing things on his mind.

"D-d-do you, do you mind?" He asked, giving the bottle and opener a sharp tug.

Chuck didn't let go, just stood there glaring at his friend.

"Yeah, I mind. I mind a lot. I mind that my best friend went out and got drunk off his butt last night and if it hadn't been for the paper this morning I wouldn't have known where to go to fish him out of the lake before he drowned." Gary flinched. Chuck went on, his voice rising. "I mind that he's got us worried out of our minds about him, and then the first chance he gets, the first time I turn my back, he's headed right back for the booze again. Shit, Gary, what are you trying to prove?" Eyes narrowing now, Chuck shook his head. "I said it before, and I'll say it again, if I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it."

Gary yanked the beer away.

"I-I-I'm not trying to prove anything!" Gary angrily indicated the door behind Chuck with the bottle opener. "Th-th-the door's, the door's right there, and you can just leave right now if you don't like what you see." His friend gave him a "yeah, right" look. Gary slammed bottle and opener down; gripping the edge of the counter with both hands, he stuck his face in Chuck's, belligerently. "Look, this is *MY* loft and *MY* bar. You left, remember?" It was Chuck's turn to flinch. Good. "I can do whatever I damn well please here, drink whatever and how much ever I like here. And I'm going to. By *MY*self. Got that?"

Arms crossed in his familiar stance, one eyebrow up, Chuck refused to back down.

"Oh, that's smart, Gar. Real smart. Get drunk again. Maybe you can drown in the toilet this time."

"Y-y-you, why don't, why don't you just go back to California and your bimbos there, hunh?" Standing up and facing Chuck straight on, Gary's hands clenched into fists at his sides.

One finger pointing at Gary's chest, Chuck shot back, "‘Cause I got enough to do right here right now just trying to keep you from doing something stupid. Again."

Gary didn't stop to think. He was tired, angry - he was scared, and he wanted a beer and Chuck was right there in front of him, right in the middle of it all. Damn him. Ran off to live his own life then tried to come back and tell Gary how to live his. Chuck jerked back enough that Gary's blow didn't knock him out, but not enough to escape being knocked flat on the floor. Fists up, Gary stood rigidly over him for a moment, fighting for control, beating back the raging desire to pummel all his frustration and fear and anger and regret out on his friend. Chuck didn't move, didn't say anything, just laid there in the middle of the mess from the beer Gary had dropped with one hand on his jaw, eyes wide. Waiting to see what Gary was going to decide to do. Gary sagged.

"Shit," he mumbled, dropping his arms and turning away, trying to ignore the tingling in his hand. Marley chuckled from the shadows beyond him. Gary walked away from his friend, over to the window again, closing his eyes and leaning against the frame with one arm up over his head. In the background, behind Marley's amusement, he heard Chuck get to his feet. The clink of glass and metal that followed was shortly joined by the sound of liquid gurgling in the drain as Chuck poured the rest of the beer down the sink. That done, Chuck's footsteps followed him over to the window, stopping behind where Gary stood, eyes closed, forehead resting against the cool glass. He didn't turn around; he could still hear Marley in the distance, could feel the cold steel between his teeth as--

"You ready to tell me what's bugging you?"

Gary didn't answer.

"Come on, buddy, let's share here. What's gotten into you? What haven't you told us? I thought you'd be okay with this Samantha thing now. It's not your fault. Gary, you have to believe that by now."

"Don't you have a motel room or something to go to?" Gary's voice was muffled by the glass in front of him.

"Nope. Haven't had time today to go get one."

Gary shifted his head enough to give Chuck a disgusted look, before closing his eyes and turning back to the window.

"Well, you got time now."

He didn't need to hear what Chuck said next, it was already obvious Chuck had crossed his arms and wasn't planning on going anywhere until Gary talked to him. Vibes, Marissa would have called it.

"Yeah, well, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on, *buddy*."

Silence. Damn, Gary wanted another beer. Wanted one bad. But not bad enough to go through Chuck to get one, which, he realized grimly, was what he would have to do at this point. Gary silently swore at his friend, swore at Marley, hating both of them for haunting him this way. The cat yowled, and he spared a glance to find it sitting at Chuck's feet. Chuck, arms crossed, looked down at it in surprise, then gave Gary a triumphant smirk. Gary made a face at them both, then shoved away from the window with another muffled curse. He brushed past Chuck without looking at him. Beer was still what he really wanted, but he pulled a can of pop out of the fridge and opened it, ignoring his companions while he tried to decide what to say next. Might as well start with the easy stuff.

Chuck had followed him across the loft, leaning now against the counter behind him, hands in his pockets. Gary turned and found himself facing in Chuck's eyes that same wounded question he'd seen in Marissa's earlier. Damn. Gary sighed, looked down, then up at Chuck, catching his eyes briefly. He waved the can of pop vaguely in Chuck's direction.

"Um... about, about hitting you... I'm sorry."

Chuck shrugged it off.

"It's nothing. At least, it'll be nothing, if you'll tell me what's going on. What's gotten into you, Gar?" He stepped forward now, voice and eyes urgent, begging an explanation. "This isn't like you at all, Gar, none of this is like you! Man, you're going down, you've hit bottom, and I've never seen you like this, not when Marcia threw you out, not when you lost Emma, not -- shit, not even that Marley creep rattled you like..."

Gary couldn't stop the shudders that came over him when Chuck mentioned Marley's name. His eyes shut instinctively as he tried to control the fear choking him, tried to breathe through a throat that was abruptly too tight. Vaguely he was aware that the room had gone silent. Pop sloshed out of the can as he reached blindly for the counter, trying steady himself against a rush of vertigo. Opening his eyes a moment later, he found Chuck staring at him, blue eyes wide with sudden comprehension.

"That's it, isn't it? Marley. Somehow, between the booze and everything else, you got this stuff with Samantha all mixed up with what happened with Marley, haven't you?"

Still fighting the persistent vertigo, Gary glared at Chuck resentfully. Damn it, Chuck... Guiltily, his eyes flicked over the slowly darkening bruise on Chuck's jawline. It would be black tomorrow. Great. One more thing on his already overloaded conscience. With a sigh, Gary conceded that Chuck probably deserved to know what had earned him a punch in the face from his best friend. All he had tried to do was help, after all. Gary shoved away the traitorous thought that whispered if Chuck had been here where he belonged in the first place... Choking down a gulp of the pop, he made a face and threw the almost full can into the garbage -- empty now; Chuck and Marissa had made themselves busy today while he was recovering his wits. At least, that's what he'd been doing until the last half hour or so. Giving Chuck a bleak look, Gary headed for the couch, flopping down with his head back and legs stretched out on the floor in front of him, futilely willing the world to stop twisting around him. Cat appeared, and jumped up beside him, then stepped delicately into his lap and nuzzled his face. Gary let it, silently apologizing to the animal before it stepped down to settle comfortably on the cushion next to him. Gee, was that all he was going to do today? Apologize to people?

"Apologize to Samantha." Oh god, not again. Gary shifted on the couch, glancing at Chuck, sitting in the chair Crumb had occupied just a couple of hours before. For a brief instant he could see Marley standing behind Chuck, hands in the pockets of his gray trench coat, that chilling smile on his face. The cat mreeowed loudly, and the apparition was gone. Gary laid his head back, sighing. Okay, here goes nothing

"It, it, it's just I've had trouble sleeping lately. A lot of trouble. Dreams. Bad ones." He stared up at the slowly swaying ceiling.

Leaning forward, forearms on his knees and hands clasped in front of him, Chuck waited. When Gary didn't continue, he took a deep breath, then offered, "Yeah, but you've had dreams before, Gary. They've never been enough to drive you over the edge like this."

"Sin-since Samantha... si-since she..." _Come on Gary, say it. You can't avoid it anymore. That's what got you here in the first place. Avoiding this. _Closing his eyes, he could hear Chuck listening. Swallowing, he tried again. "Since Samantha die- died, it's like everything I ever did, ever-everything I ever tried to do went wrong. The DA gets murdered, you and Crumb drown on the boat, Maris-- Eleanor gets ra-ra-raped and Jesse dies and I-I-I can't do anything about any of it. It just goes on and on and I just have to stand and watch everything go wrong, and then I wake up and..." Gary swallowed again, fighting the dizziness as he turned his head to meet Chuck's steady gaze.

Chuck frowned, dubiously, now. He took a breath, but Gary looked away before Chuck's thought became words. He wasn't getting through. That much was obvious.

"Th-th-that's where the beer, the beer came in. It just, well at first it was just there. Then, it, well, I just seemed, I just seemed to sleep better with it. That's all." That's all you want to say, you mean. His stomach twisting, he told the inner voice to shut up, hoping against hope that Chuck would back off without pressing for any more details. Gary didn't want to share last night with anyone, including himself.

"Yeah, okay, so where's Marley come in?"

Gary clenched his jaw, fighting the pitch and yaw of the room around him, not responding, not looking at his friend. Chuck was watching him; the vibes told him that, but the vibes didn't say he had to answer.

"Come on Gar, the guy was enough to give anyone nightmares. I had nightmares after the stuff with him, and I wasn't even the one he tried to frame for assassinating the president." Chuck paused as Gary shivered, chilled. He really, really, really did not want to finish this conversation. The chair squeaked as Chuck leaned further toward him, one hand coming out to brush Gary's knee.

"Gar, the guy's dead. Crumb shot him."

"I've come for your soul."

The two voices overlapped in Gary's mind, and he shot to his feet, Chuck staring up at him in consternation as his gaze once more flew wildly around the loft. Oh my god. He knew what Marley wanted. He understood now what the voice wanted him to do, and what's more, he knew the voice was right. This was where the voice had been trying to push him last night, why he had wound up at the edge of the lake, wound up in the lake. A life for a life. Somehow, in hos own mind, Samantha's death now required his own. Marley stood before him, grinning cadaverously as Gary's thoughts came full circle. Gary faltered as he backed slowly away from the rogue agent, catching himself against the arm of the couch. He shook his head.

"N-n-no. I, I, I can't do that."

"Gary!" Chuck was there, grabbing Gary's arms and shaking him roughly, concern evident in his face. Marley stepped back as Gary struggled to focus on his friend.

"It's Marley... he, he, he..." Swallowing, he tried again. "I, I can't, I can't do that."

"Can't do what? Gary, Marley's dead!" Chuck was still holding onto Gary's arms and he shook him again. "It doesn't matter what he wanted you to do, he's dead. Gary!" Gary just stood there, swaying. He was too tired to fight any more. Too tired to care. Marley stepped forward again.

"You know the price."

"I know the price." Gary responded, automatically. Marley smiled.

"What price?" Chuck was angry now as well as confused. Gary stared past him at Marley. Chuck, one hand still grasping Gary's arm, turned to see what he was staring at, growing more concerned as he realized there was nothing there. "Gary!"

Gary shook his head, looking down at Chuck, seeing him clearly for the moment. Seeing everything clearly for the moment, before the shadows swooped in again, and Marley stepped closer, standing right behind Chuck now. Gary swallowed. Marley had used him and thrown him away once before, and almost gotten away with it. Almost...

"It's a life for a life..." He whispered, slowly, and Chuck's eyes grew huge. Marley smiled again and nodded at him, a rifle suddenly in his hand. Gary's stomach flipped, and he took another step backwards. No, surely not. This, this couldn't be real. The cat mreeowed at his feet, and Chuck yanked on his arm to get his attention. Gary stepped back and jerked his arm free, but Chuck refused to be shook off, immediately grabbing his arm again.

"Gary! What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's Marley. It, it, it's Marley. He, he, he..." Gary's stomach knotted and he shook his head against the dizziness as Marley stepped closer, flipping the rifle upright in one hand, reaching out with the other for Gary's arm. He tried to twist away from Marley's grasp, but Chuck wouldn't let go.

"Gary! Snap out of it! It's just the booze again! Your system is still trying to get rid of it all!" Forcing his arm free this time, Gary glared at Chuck.

"No! No, it's not! You don't understand! You weren't there!" Anger surged wildly in him, anger because Chuck had abandoned him, left him here alone to watch Samantha die. Anger at himself. Because in spite of Crumb's words, in spite of his own conviction that Samantha forgave him, he still hadn't forgiven himself. The paper had laid the responsibility at his feet to save her, and he wouldn't lay the responsibility for her death anywhere else. The cat yowled at his feet, and he glared at it for a moment, before grabbing Chuck's shirt in one fist for the second time that day. Chuck gulped and let go of Gary's arm as he was yanked close and Gary stuck his face down into his friend's and snarled, "You weren't here, and now Samantha's blood is on my hands whether she or anyone else says they forgive me it's still on my hands and it will always be on my hands and Crumb didn't show and Marley was there and he was absolutely right when he stuck the fucking gun in my mouth and blew my head off!"

* * *

Part 10

_Shit!_

Chuck stared at Gary - no, this stranger holding him up by his shirt, nose to nose. This, this wasn't Gary. This was, this was... Chuck didn't know who it was. Where had his friend gone, and where did this wild-eyed man come from that had taken his place? Swallowing, Chuck didn't move, didn't respond to Gary's raving. What was he talking about anyway, Marley blowing his head off? Was that what he had been dreaming earlier today? Geez, Chuck should have followed his own instincts and woken the guy up. Marissa, if she had known this was what was going through Gary's head, she wouldn't have objected to waking him up then and there. Would she?

Chuck didn't know. He didn't know anything right now, except he wanted his friend back: reliable, trustworthy Gary, good man beside you whether you wanted to go drink beer and watch some hoops or whatever. Yeah, he could get irritating, him and his Boy Scout attitudes toward life, his propensity to take care of everyone in the world but himself. But he was a good guy. A real good guy.

And this man had taken his place. The paper and the cat had finally done it. He'd said all along that the paper was out to get Gary, and now it looked like the damn thing had succeeded. Chuck would have glared at the cat, but Gary hadn't let him go yet, and Chuck - fearing another punch in the face - simply held very still and stared back at Gary.

Finally, Gary shivered, shoving Chuck away. Chuck stumbled backwards a few steps, still staring at his friend. Staggering, Gary turned back to the window. Catching himself against the wall at the last moment, he sank down to sit at the base of the wall, forearms on his knees and head hanging.

The loft was silent. Chuck didn't move. What the hell was he supposed to do with this guy? What was he supposed to say? He had no idea where to begin, what to do. Where was Marissa when he needed her? Where was Crumb? They were both better at this stuff than he was.

_"It's a life for a life." _ Gary's words suddenly came back to Chuck, and he frowned as he stared at the top of Gary's head. Did he mean what Chuck thought he did when he said that? Gary? Not Gary, he would never... but, then, this wasn't Gary sitting in front of Chuck, it was some stranger, some crazy, grief-stricken man that Chuck had never seen before. There was no telling what he might do. No telling at all. And, if he did anything, that would mean Chuck would lose his friend too. Swallowing, Chuck was forced to admit he was the one who was going to have to deal with this, somehow.

He took a tentative step towards his friend. The cat mreeowed at his feet, looking up at him before going to curl around Gary. Gary shoved it away without looking up. Chuck wished he hadn't eaten that second sandwich, wished his stomach would unknot itself, wished the words would magically come to him, the words that would summon Gary - the real Gary - from whatever dark place he was locked in. Nothing came however, and Chuck squatted in front of Gary, arms resting on his thighs and hands clasped in front of him, with no more to say than he had a minute ago.

Finally, "Gar?"

No response.

"Gar? What do you mean about Marley? Marley's dead."

Gary came uncoiled suddenly, jumping up halfway to his feet, and Chuck fell back onto his buttocks.

"Don't you think I know that, Chuck? Don't you think I know?" All the way on his feet by now, Gary's voice had risen as he did, his face contorted in what looked like rage to Chuck. Scrambling to his feet, he backed nervously away from his friend, who followed him, finger stabbing into the air in a few inches in front of Chuck's nose. Gary's voice dropped, ominously, as he continued. "Hell, *I* was there. *You* weren't. I watched Marley die, right at my own two feet. You weren't there, Chuck, you weren't there, but I was. I saw him die... Just like I saw Samantha--"

Hands falling clenched to his sides, Gary shook his head, visibly choking on the tears that Chuck could see building in his eyes before looking away, searching the shadows around the loft almost as if he expected to find someone, something lurking there. After a minute, his gaze sought Chuck's again, the shattered soul peering from those hazel eyes unavoidable. Chuck gulped nervously as Gary, hands reaching in supplication, pleaded softly. "Don't you see, Chuck? Don't you see? I owe something, someone, for Samantha's life. Marley, Marley, he's just some crazy way my mind has of telling me that I'm responsible, and that there's a price to pay, and somehow I've got to pay it if I ever want to get Samantha off my conscience."

Chuck didn't like this turn of events, not at all. He stared at Gary, swallowing noisily again as he fought for the words to say, his own emotions from the passing day roiling within him - and suddenly boiling over. He didn't try to moderate the sarcasm in his voice as he answered Gary.

"Yeah, so what exactly do you mean about a price to pay, Gary? Huh?" One hand in his back pocket, Chuck gestured angrily with the other. "You gonna go blow your head off for Marley? That'd be just great, Gar, just great. First I lose you to the booze, then I lose you permanently. You bothered to think about how I'm gonna tell your mom and dad about that? Huh? Where's the sense in it? Oh, hey, Bernie, Lois, Gary's dead. Some other parent lost their baby, and now you've lost your only child because somehow, somewhere, in some great cosmic, karmic way, this made sense. This made it ‘right.'"

Gary's face contorted now in confusion. He opened his mouth, but Chuck batted the objection away with his own words before Gary could voice it. Chuck knew he was losing control; he knew he was yelling, and he was afraid he might be losing his friend forever with his words. But he couldn't stop the anger anymore; he couldn't hold the fear back any longer.

"Well, I'm not gonna sit here and watch you do it, hear? If you want to kill yourself over something you couldn't have prevented anyway, then be my guest. Just go do it somewhere I don't have to watch you murder my best friend--"

"M-m-murder? I-I- I'm not going to--" Gary's face was flushed with frustration, and Chuck could see his anger rising, but he refused to be denied his say. He stepped forward, and shot his next words directly in his friend's face.

"Oh yeah? Well, you've already taken the Gary I knew away. I don't know who you are, Gary, I don't know you." Gary flinched, backed away. Chuck followed him, one hand delineating each point he made next in the palm of his other hand. "The Gary I knew would have called for help, would have asked, would have known that his friends care about him, that we'd help him. He'd never let himself get this far down, he'd ask for help. You, you've changed, Gary, and I don't like it. I want the old Gary back, the one who knew how to take life with a grain of salt, who knew how to go out and have fun."

Chuck crossed his arms now, entrenching the position he had taken, still glaring at Gary even though Gary refused to look at him. "So you missed one damn rescue. It's not enough to take my best friend from me for the rest of my life, to take your parents' son from them for the rest of their lives. You don't owe anybody anything, Gary. You did your best. Now you gotta let it go. I don't care what Marley or whomever has said to you, you gotta let it go. It isn't your fault. Not any more."

Tirade complete, Chuck's hands dropped to his side. Gary stared at Chuck, slack-jawed, then, shoulders slumped, he turned away to stare out the window again. Abruptly concerned he had said too much, cursing his stupidity, his lack of control, his lack of skill with words, Chuck took a step toward his friend.

"Please, Gary, you've got to..."

Gary tensed, his fist coming up. Chuck quickly stepped back, away from Gary. But Gary didn't turn around, and it wasn't Chuck's face he smashed, it was the window. Chuck jumped as the window shattered beneath the impact, then - disgusted by his own cowardice and selfishness - he jumped to grab Gary's hand before he could pull it back through the glass and cut it up any worse than he already had.

"Shit, Gary..."

Gary stared wide-eyed at the blood on his hand as Chuck carefully maneuvered it through the broken glass. At least he didn't resist or fight Chuck as he led him into the bathroom. _Be grateful for small favors,_ Chuck told himself grimly as he left Gary standing with his hand bleeding into the sink and ran to grab the first aid kit. Good thing Crumb had left it beside the bed this morning. Returning, Chuck swallowed, fighting the bile that rose in his gorge at the bright red ribbons trailing from his friend's hand down the white porcelain.

Cleaned up, the damage consisted mostly of small cuts on his knuckles. Nothing too serious, just a lot of blood and the developing shadows of several nasty bruises mingling with the cuts. Still, Chuck would feel better if he could get Gary to a doctor. Stitches would probably help a couple larger gashes. Thoughtfully eyeing his friend, who stood passively, avoiding eye contact as he watched Chuck's ministrations, he decided against that. Marissa was right, Gary had spent too much time in hospitals lately. Too much bad time. Chuck would have to deal with this himself. He just hoped there were enough butterfly bandages left.

There were, barely, if he only used them on the deepest cuts. Twenty minutes later, both seated at the table, he wrapped the last of the gauze around Gary's hand and fastened it with a piece of tape. Taking a deep breath, Chuck looked up, Gary's eyes finally meeting his. There didn't seem to be anything for either one of them to say and they were both happy to look at the cat instead when it mreeowed, jumping up on the table in front of them. Gary put his good hand out as if to fend it off, changing his mind in mid-motion and stroking it as it nuzzled at his hand and mreeowed again.

The loft was silent for the next few moments, except for the noise of Chuck cleaning up. He started with the detritus from his first aid, dumping it in the garbage can. The broken beer bottle glinted from the floor, and Chuck cleaned that up next while Gary sat at the table stroking the cat. A chill breeze blew through the window until it was covered with some cardboard from the back room downstairs, Chuck sweeping the shards of the window into the garbage with the rest of the evening's debris. Then he hunted up the acetaminophen, and a glass of water. Between his hand and his head, Gary could probably use several extra-strength tablets. Chuck thought he could probably use some himself.

Gary had his head down in his arms on the table, apparently asleep. Chuck shook Gary's shoulder, hoping he hadn't fallen too soundly into slumber.

"Gar! Hey, Gary! Let's get you in bed, okay, buddy?"

Shaking his head, Gary sat up, staring around him in bewilderment for a minute or two before catching Chuck's eye. He silently took the tablets, swallowed them with the water Chuck offered him, then stood, swaying wearily. Chuck steadied him with a hand on his elbow as Gary moved mutely to the bed. Collapsing across it with a sigh, he started suddenly, sitting up on his elbows and looking wildly about him. Chuck's gut froze for a minute, and then he reached out and shook his friend's shoulder gently.

"Gary? I'm here if you need me, okay? I'll be right here."

Gary's eyes met Chuck's, and Chuck thought briefly he'd like to take a bat to the cat and the damn newspaper for tearing his friend up like this. But he pushed that thought aside and tried his best to look reassuring for his friend. Evidently he succeeded, for Gary finally nodded shortly, and fell back on the bed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

Chuck found a blanket and tossed it over Gary, then stood for a moment looking thoughtfully at his friend. He couldn't shake the traitorous feeling of relief that stole over him as he watched Gary, waiting to be sure he was sound asleep before seeking his own bed - relief that he'd soon be away again, far away from the paper and the insanity of life with it. He wondered about Crumb's speech on karma, all those months ago: What you reap is what you sow. But, he'd only ever really helped one person out in the last two years of his own free will, without Gary or Marissa pushing him, and he was handed a hundred grand and the opportunity to go do what he wanted in life. Gary helped people every day, and what did he get? Little or no thanks and more blame than he ever deserved. Where was the justice in that? When was Gary gonna start reaping some of the good he sowed every day?

The even rise and fall of Gary's chest beneath the blanket brought to mind his own weariness. Chuck made his way around the apartment, turning out lights, before heading for the couch and the blanket he'd left there this morning.

_The pain in his side was a knife, a dull one, stabbing into his chest with each gasping breath. But he couldn't stop running, couldn't slow down, couldn't risk... what? Why was he running? What was it that he so feared...? Gary slowed, then stopped completely, unable to do anything for a moment but stand, hands on his knees, half bent over, chest heaving as he sucked air in to his starved lungs. Pulse slowing finally, his breathing slowing to a more normal rate, he looked up, scanning his surroundings, trying to make some sense of where he was and why he was there. Chicago, downtown, night... he stood just outside the circle of light cast by a solitary street light. Across the street, the El tracks stood, silently shadowing the night beneath them. But why? Why was he here? Frowning, he tried to remember, tried to focus--_

_In the darkness beneath the El tracks, a darker form moved forward. Gary tensed, took a step backward, his heart pounding again like it had just a moment ago. Still, he waited, wondering..._

_"Do you want to die?" Hernandez stepped into the light, gun aimed straight at Gary's heart._

_Gary's stomach sank. No. Not again. He swallowed, but when he made an attempt to move aside, out of the gun's way, Hernandez took another step closer, threatening with the gun. Gary's throat was dry, and he swallowed again, warily eyeing the gun. When it looked like Hernandez wasn't going to go anywhere or do anything unless he answered, he finally forced the words out._

_"N-n-no. No, I don't." And he knew it was true as he spoke it. There was a chuckle in the background, behind him, and Gary's blood ran cold, but he didn't dare turn around, didn't dare look away from--_

_Eddie. Eddie held the gun on him now, not Hernandez, and Gary blinked in confusion. The boy took two quick steps closer to Gary, gun never wavering from its aim. Gary's hands went up, but before he could say anything, Eddie spoke._

_"You're gonna be sorry you didn't come, mister."_

_Gary frowned. Something, something wasn't quite right here, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Eddie shook the gun menacingly again, and Gary decided figuring things out could wait a few minutes, wait until he had this child and his gun pointed somewhere else. Preferably not at him. Ignoring the ominous chuckles that came occasionally from the night behind him, he took a deep breath, and..._

_"What do you know about losing everything you ever had?" Frank's eyes were haunted, his raw grief at the hand life had dealt him written in every line of his angry stance, a stance that included a gun pointed directly at Gary. Taking a couple of quick steps, Frank had his face right in Gary's, and before Gary could rise above his confusion, try taking charge, try talking his way out of it, tell Frank "Try me," he saw Frank's hand tense, knew he was gonna pull the trigger._

_Gary threw himself aside, landing hard on the sidewalk, rolling to his side and cradling his hands to his chest immediately after he caught himself. Damn, what had he done to make them hurt like that? Bruised, scraped, one hand wrapped almost entirely in blood-spotted gauze, his hands were a mess. He heard footsteps, braced himself for facing another gun, and looked up to find Marley, squatting down beside him, a chill smile on his lips._

_"It's almost time."_

_Time? Time for what? Behind Marley other figures materialized from the darkness: Hernandez, Eddie, Frank, all with guns in hand. Gary stared in horror from them to Marley, then scrambled to his feet, shaking his head._

_"N-n-n-no." Backing away, still shaking his head, Gary turned and ran again. He didn't get far through the black and white streets. He tripped and fell over something, fell hard, crying out as his hands hit concrete again. Then he turned to look at what he had tripped over, and his heart fell to his shoes._

_Samantha._

_She lay there, much as she had in the park that day after she had been run over by the skaters, blood oozing from her nose and mouth, that awful dent in the side of her head where it shouldn't be. Gary stared, horrified for a moment, before taking his jacket off. He laid it out beside her, and carefully eased the little girl into it. In the background, he heard footfalls, knew Marley and his goons were still there, still hunting, still pushing, but he couldn't not try to save Samantha. Pulling his jacket securely about her, he gathered her into his arms. With one last look behind him, he stood and turned to hurry down the street. If he could just get her to a hospital... Shaking his head against a sudden image of a sunny day, a cool spring day, a different little girl in his arms, one who had lived, along with a whole lot of other people, Gary came around the corner and nearly dropped his precious burden as he bumped into the person standing there._

_Rachel smiled at him, the same mischievous grin that dared him to believe her wild tales at the hospital last year. Gary stood frozen in shock. Rachel's scrutiny turned serious._

_"You have to put her down, Gary."_

_Gary could hear the footsteps behind him, knew he had to keep trying to save Samantha, or Marley would catch up to him, Marley would never give up, had never given up. He opened his mouth to respond to Rachel, but she shook her head._

_"There was nothing else you could do. I know that. She knows that. You have to put her down." The words on the tip of his tongue fled without a sound as Gary stared at her. Rachel put a hand on his arm. "You have to save yourself, this time, Gary Hobson. Otherwise, there won't be anyone there the next time." She nodded at the still form in his arms, and Gary looked down at Samantha in reflex. He caught his breath._

_There was no blood, no injury. Samantha lay in his arms as if sleeping peacefully. Rachel smiled again as his eyes sought hers._

_"Let her go, Gary. You have to." The footsteps were louder, and Gary risked a look back over his shoulder to see Marley and his crew rounding the corner behind him. He made as if to run, but Rachel's hand on his arm held him._

_"Gary." Their eyes locked, and Gary felt his conviction, his guilt, fading, drowning in the conviction flowing into him from Rachel's gaze. Swallowing, heart pounding almost as audibly as the feet approaching from behind him, Gary knelt and laid Samantha gently on the ground._

* * *

"Gar? Gary?"

Chuck's face was simply a lighter shadow in the deep night darkness of Gary's loft, but his concern was obvious as he bent over his friend, one hand out to shake Gary awake. As soon as he saw that he had Gary's attention, Chuck released Gary's shoulder and stood up, the concerned frown remaining as his eyes searched Gary's.

"You all right?"

Gary closed his eyes, probing internally for the wound of Samantha's death, much like the patient's tongue probes for the missing tooth after the dentist has pulled it. It was there, but not so raw, not so overwhelming anymore. The vision of laying a peacefully sleeping Samantha on the ground flashed through his thoughts.

Opening his eyes, meeting Chuck's gaze, he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I am."

Chuck blew out a heavy sigh, relief plain on his face.

"Well, in that case then, I don't know about you, but I could use a little more shut-eye."

Gary nodded as Chuck turned back to the couch. Listening as Chuck got settled, Gary finally allowed himself to think about the day's revelations - just a little bit. After a minute, he sat up on one elbow.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?" came the disembodied reply from the general direction of the couch.

"Thanks. Thanks for being here tonight."

"You're welcome buddy." Chuck's blue eyes peered over the top of the couch, his gaze serious. "Anytime, you hear me? Anytime."

Gary nodded.

"Yeah. I hear ya."

"Now boarding for United Flight 51 to Los Angeles." The announcement cut across the silence that had fallen around the small group seated in the airport waiting area. Looking around as he stood, Chuck could hardly believe this was the same place he and Marissa had met in misery just 5 days ago. Today, the sun shone brightly outside, the carpets looked freshly cleaned, and, best of all, Gary was sitting beside Marissa, looking and sounding much more like his own self.

Oh, to be sure, there were still moments when Chuck could see it all in Gary's face, see the memories of Samantha and her mom and all the events of the last month haunting him. Times when the sorrow overwhelmed him again, when Chuck realized why it was said that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Just the memory of the desolation in Gary's expression at those moments gave Chuck the shivers. But those looks were fewer now than they had been, and longer in between. The shadows beneath Gary's eyes were gone, and his face had lost the pinched appearance it had had the first couple of days after Chuck had fished him out of the lake. A few nights of sound sleep - though that first night had been a little rough - and some days of good company - Chuck's - and Gary was going to be fine. Just fine.

Gary even had a date with Renee tonight, and it looked like they were going to work things out, again. She had shown up at McGinty's last night, and the four of them, Chuck, Marissa, Renee and Gary, had gone out for pizza. When Gary left for the bathroom at one point, Renee had surprised them both by demanding to know what had happened to him. They had finally stammered something out about Gary witnessing an accident he felt he should have prevented. His return had forestalled further questioning on her part, but Chuck felt sure she was going to get the whole story out of Gary one way or another. Frowning as he studied his friend, Chuck wondered if Gary was going to try to tell Renee about the paper any time soon. If he would, maybe she could help take up some of the slack now that Chuck himself was out in California.

Gary looked up and caught his friend's gaze on him. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat and looking away, he mumbled something about getting a drink, then practically bolted out of his chair and headed for the water fountain across the room. Chuck sighed, his eyebrows going up as he watched him make his way across the terminal. Yeah, Gary was better. But... He turned to where Marissa was seated, calmly petting Spike. She was back to her old, impeccably coifed self, both inside and out. Chuck hesitated, not sure how to say what he felt needed to be said. With that unerring sixth sense she had, Marissa turned her sightless eyes towqrd him, a small smile curving her lips.

"Don't worry. Crumb and I will keep an eye on him. We won't let him fall through the cracks again."

"Yeah, well..." Chuck fought the lump in his throat, as across the room Gary started back to them. "Okay. Thanks, Marissa." He reached for his bag, settling it on his shoulder.

Gary joined them, studiously avoiding both their gazes. Baseball cap pulled low over his face, hands in his pockets, he looked uncomfortable, but then, he'd never liked emotional scenes, of any kind.

"Final call for United Flight 51 to Los Angeles." Chuck shifted his bag to his other shoulder, and held out his hand. Gary helped Marissa up with one hand before facing Chuck. He shook Chuck's hand briefly, looking away, and then back again.

"I, uh, well, uh, thanks..." Gary's voice trailed off as his eyes finally met Chuck's. Eyebrows up, Chuck shook his head.

"Don't mention it. I'm just sorry I wasn't here to begin with, buddy."

Their eyes met again, and neither one of them could deny the truth they saw between them. There was no going back. Much as Gary needed Chuck here, much as Chuck wanted to be here for his friend, now that he realized just how false his "second banana" image of himself had been, the truth was they couldn't just wave a magic wand and have the past back. Chuck had started a new life, had new commitments, things he couldn't just walk away from. Gary was going to have to figure out how to make the paper and McGinty's work without Chuck.

Clearing his throat and looking away, Chuck dropped Gary's hand. Glancing at Marissa, and then back at Gary, who stood shoulders slightly hunched and hands in his pockets again, he said, "Well, I guess this is it. Again." He grinned wryly as he spoke.

Marissa nodded, and reached to hug him. Chuck returned her embrace, then stepped back for one last look at the two of them before turning towards the entryway to the plane. Stopping, he caught Gary's eyes and held them once more with his own.

"You call me, if you need me, ok?" They both heard the overtones in his voice, and Gary, obviously ill at ease, finally nodded, looking away as he did so. Chuck waited until Gary's gaze met his again, wanting and receiving Gary's unspoken promise that he wouldn't let himself get pulled so far under a second time without asking for help.

Then with a smile, he backed away.

"Don't you two have somewhere to be?"

Gary looked surprised, automatically grabbing at the paper folded in the back pocket of his jeans. Marissa just smiled as Spike wagged his tail and barked once, happily. Chuck laughed, then turned and walked to his plane. He didn't look back.

"Okay, so now where?"

"Huh?" Gary looked at Marissa, then took one last look at the door where Chuck's retreating back could barely be seen, rounding the last corner. As his friend disappeared, Gary turned to Marissa and pulled the paper out of his pocket. It only took a second for him to find the article. He scanned it, checked his watch, and then took a deep breath.

"The paper says the accident doesn't happen until 2:35. That should give me enough time to get you back to McGinty's before I head for the park."

Marissa was shaking her head. Gary frowned at her.

"What?" If she could have seen him, he looked as confused as he sounded. Marissa smiled.

"Oh, let's just say I'd like to go along for the ride this time." Spike barked, wriggling with excitement and for a moment Gary just stood, looking suspiciously from the dog to her and back again. Then, shrugging, he pocketed the paper before offering her his arm. Why not? Marissa put her hand out and he placed it on the crook of his elbow and they walked away, quickly disappearing into the crowded airport.

Behind them, sitting quietly in the window where Chuck's plane could be seen beginning its taxi out to the runway, sat a very contented ginger cat, licking its paws. Giving one ear a final rub, the cat mreeowed out the window in the general direction of the plane, and then leaped down and ran, tail held high, into the crowd in the same direction Gary and Marissa had gone.

The End


End file.
